The Way
by Shire.Conspire
Summary: Draco Malfoy, the rich and arrogant fool. Pansy Parkinson, the wealthy and stubborn brat...Draco Malfoy, the abused and trialed hero. Pansy Parkinson, the brave and emotional heroine. Everything's more interesting on the dark side.
1. The Way You Looked That Night

Chapter One ~ The Way You Looked that Night  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I met Draco Malfoy maybe three years before either of us entered Hogwarts. He was two months older than me, so when I was seven he was eight when I first entered his home. I can still remember that day as if it happened not even a fortnight ago.  
  
Mum had dressed me in my nicest dinner dress, all black satin and white ivory buttons down the back. She had brushed my dark hair until it shone and tied it in a loose white ribbon to keep it out of my face. She made me put on my shiniest black shoes and wrapped my warmest black cloak around my shoulders. It was winter when I first met him.  
  
I asked my mum why I had to be so dressed up, and why she and Daddy were wearing their best dress robes. She only told me that we were going to have dinner with some new friends they met and that they were 'high class' people. They sounded strange to me, so I said nothing else from that moment until we were on the Malfoy's foyer.  
  
A house elf greeted us, holding the door open and taking our cloaks. He looked very sad and dirty, but he scared me, so I hid behind my father's leg. We stood there for maybe a minute when a low, drawling voice greeted us.  
  
"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson; so glad you could make it."  
  
Wondering who owned that voice, I peeked around my father's robes. Standing before us was a tall man with white-blonde hair and pale skin. His eyes were steel grey and he was dressed even statelier than my own parents. In his hand he carried a highly polished cane with a silver snake's head at the top.  
  
He scared the hell out of me.  
  
Banging his cane into the hard marble floor three times, the house elf bowed his self out and fled through a door to the left. The man, whom I found out to be Mr. Lucius Malfoy, led us into a door at the right.  
  
"Please come into the drawing room and meet my wife and son," he said, his voice much too cold for my liking.  
  
I trailed behind my parents, so I didn't see him right away. I was glad, because from the way I'm recalling that memory, I would have died upon first laying eyes on him. Thankfully, I was granted a few minutes to prepare for some handsome little boy or a hideous and cruel one. What I met was neither and both at the same time.  
  
"Hello. My name is Draco Malfoy and I am pleased to have met you," where the very first words he spoke to me. I had seated myself in an armchair near the entrance, letting my parents become acquainted with their new 'friends'. I didn't want to meet Mr. Malfoy's son, but he had obviously sought me out; and I couldn't have been more grateful.  
  
When I looked up from my shining shoes, my heart stopped, literally. He had the same blonde hair and grey eyes and pale face as his father, but he was not his father in any way. His hair was platinum blonde, slicked back to give him a clean-cut look. His face was pale but with more color and life in it than his father's and his eyes were not steely grey, but stormy; like rain clouds sweeping in on the hottest day of the summer to cool your face. I know it sounds corny, but it's the truth.  
  
And this may be pushing it over the edge here, but I think I fell in love with him in those seconds when we just stared at one another.  
  
I wasn't sure if he was sincere when he greeted me or just playing along, because believe me, I wasn't stupid, and no eight-year-old boy spoke like that, regardless of your upbringing. His hand was outstretched, as if waiting for me to shake it. Still suspicious if he was just playing his parent's puppet, I took it with hesitation. But after our hands connected, I didn't care anymore.  
  
Once I had offered my small hand, he took it in his own and raised it to his lips, kissing it with the gentlest touch of rain on a rose petal. It should have wooed me, it should have made my heart melt and it should have made me tingle all over. But I was seven, and all it made me was very self-conscience and very scared.  
  
I didn't know until later years, but that moment would both bless and haunt me forever.  
  
*Draco*  
  
Now, I won't lie to you and say that it was 'love at first sight' when I met Pansy. What do I look like, a Gryffindor? Not that saying those words acquired bravery; it was just the impulse of being so utterly stupid that makes it reek of the Gryffindor stench.  
  
But in all honesty, I wasn't capable of any emotion at the age of eight. I mean, give me a break; I was a boy who hadn't even reached his double digits. But I was brought up in an atmosphere sophisticated enough for me to have a little awareness of the things around me; and let me tell you, I was certainly aware when Pansy first walked into the drawing room.  
  
She wasn't the prettiest little girl I had ever seen, but she could have made many of them run for their money; literally. She was dressed all in black satin, save for the small ivory buttons trailing her back. Her dark hair glinted in the firelight of the chandelier, mesmerizing me. It was tied back in a white bow, and I had to fight the urge to rip that ribbon away and let the waterfall of darkness fall around her face.  
  
I couldn't see her eyes because she kept her head down, gazing at the floor and not looking up once. Right away, she jumped into one of the armchairs near the door and crossed her hands over her lap, staring fixedly at her shoes. She seemed unwelcome in our household, and her mother and father were too busy introducing themselves to my own.  
  
So call me the gentleman, but I walked away from my mother's side and towards her.  
  
"Hello. My name is Draco Malfoy and I am pleased to have met you," were the first things I said to her. Believe me, it sounds stupider even now when I'm recalling it from my memory. She looked up then, and I almost gasped as she bore me with her eyes. Key word there is 'almost'.  
  
She had the darkest eyes, completely black and matching her dress and dark brown hair. But they did not look menacing; I mean, come one, she was only seven. But they caught me in awe, and I was speechless for a few moments.  
  
When I had regained my composure, I held out my hand to her, intending to shake it. But as she slipped her cold fingers into my mine, I instinctively brought them to my lips, caressing her skin with the lightest kiss. She gave a small intake of breath and for some reason, I smiled a little. I wouldn't know until later years, but that moment would both bless and haunt me forever. 


	2. The Way You Hurt Me

Chapter Two ~ The Way You Hurt Me  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Draco and I were never betrothed, that is something I must make clear now. Our parents never sought that spontaneous idea of an arranged marriage; it wasn't either of their styles. They weren't that thick headed, and it would have been poor thinking. Parkinson's and Malfoy's never do anything associated with the word 'poor'.  
  
That doesn't erase the fact that they did have high expectations for both of us. As it was with pureblood families, marrying only within our ring was essential; and I was the only daughter of a pureblood line that the Malfoy's thought worthy for their son. In their terms, that was the highest praise they could give.  
  
I guess there was Blaise Zabini, but for some reason the Malfoys, all three of them, never had high regards for their surname. I guess it was the whole 'stalling-to-support-the-Dark-Lord' episode that lowered them on their list.  
  
And don't think I wasn't apt to follow through with my parents wishes, because in all honesty I was. I wasn't taken with Draco Malfoy, I was infatuated. He was my first crush, and quite certainly, my only. From the moment he first spoke to me when I was seven I had thought of only one thing: never would there be another boy in my life than Draco Malfoy. A bit forward for a seven-year-old, but I am Pansy, and nothing was too forward for me.  
  
But I never really knew if Draco felt the same way about me. In the years before we both turned eleven and were set out for Hogwarts, we were constantly in touch. Our parents would see each other almost every weekend and both our families held monthly balls in celebration for donations, for birthdays, for promotions and even for no apparent reason at all. During those times Draco and I spent fair time together, but he would soon go off with his friends Vince and Greg (or Crabbe and Goyle as Draco puts it), and I would be left on my own for neither Blaise nor Millicent Bulstrode would be there.  
  
On those times, when we were at the Parkinson Manor, I'd go out onto the balcony and stand there for the rest of the night. Beside our manor ran the purest stream, and I'd almost fall asleep on the banister just listening to it. Other times I would wonder about the ballroom aimlessly, wishing I wasn't so lonely and that Draco would spend more time with me. He never did.  
  
For our first three years at Hogwarts he barely paid me any attention. All of his interest was focused on famous Harry Potter. Draco was determined to out do Potter and his gang consisting of a Mudblood and wizard disgrace, but he never did succeed. In minor cases, maybe; but otherwise, he always lost.  
  
And with his mind set on the Golden Trio of Gryffindor, there was no room left for thoughts of myself. It seemed our earlier three years of acquaintance were thrown into the sea, and I was nothing more than another face in his crowd.  
  
It was quite depressing when it came to it.  
  
But I played along, sneering with him as he insulted Potter; laughing with him as he humiliated Weasley; glared with him as he challenged Granger. In our third year I had almost lost myself in playing the trailing wench, crying after him when the hippogriff scratched him.  
  
Yes, I admit it. It was only a scratch and nothing to be worried about. But I was so caught up in my façade that I actually believed he was in real danger.  
  
Fourth year was the turn around year for him, however. Although there was that nasty event with Potter's name popping out of that silly goblet that got Draco steaming at the ears; but never mind that. There was another event that got him rather skittish however: the Yule Ball.  
  
Now let's get one thing straight here, Draco wasn't exactly the apple of every girl's eye. I mean, he was gorgeous enough for the Slytherin taste, (and let's face it, for everyone's taste), but he wasn't exactly the sweetest pick of the orchard. To many he was just a grey-eyed, cynical boy with more money than he had a heart, and to others he was just a blatant little troublemaker. But to the rare few, he was a time bomb of perfection waiting to go off.  
  
I was one of those rare few.  
  
And of course, I was his friend, so it was only natural for him to ask me to the ball.  
  
I didn't expect much, which was probably a good thing. First of all, we were both dressed horribly and second, my night was ruined when we both laid eyes on Granger. I was shocked for maybe only an hour while Draco stayed horrified all night. He was overflowing with the fury that someone as horrible as her could look so dazzling. He was smug all night and sat hunched over in his seat, drinking through butterbeer after butterbeer.  
  
Oh, and could we please not count fifth year? That was nonexistence waiting to happen. He would barely look at me all that year, and when he did, it was to make sure I had my Inquisitorial Squad badge on. It was the entire 'the-Dark-Lord-had-risen-and-the-stupid-Ministry of Magic-is- unknowingly-aiding-him' charade that took up most of his time. I played along, naturally; and I wasted yet another year on this male glory I could not own.  
  
But in the summer previous to our sixth year was a summer I'll never forget. And neither will Draco, for that matter.  
  
Throughout fifth year, my so called 'love' for him began to wane, diminishing every time he looked at me with nothing more than a command on his lips. By the end of that year it was nothing more than a single flame that only a small bit of ignorance could extinguish. That small bit of ignorance came in the form of a bit of human intelligence; namely, Draco Malfoy.  
  
Maybe I'm being bitter or maybe I'm finally speaking the truth. How about I leave that for you to decide?  
  
Anyway, that last flame I held for him was burnt out on the train ride back from Hogwarts. I shared a compartment with him along with Millicent, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise. Draco was exceptionally difficult on the way back home, considering he was in a bad mood over his father's sudden Azkaban imprisonment. Needless to say, the atmosphere in our part of the train was not happy.  
  
He was silent when we both boarded the train, when we met in the Prefects compartment for only a little bit and all the way to where the others were situated. Upon entering, he settled himself closest to the window, leaning casually against it with his arms folded across his chest and an angered and bored look on his face. I took the seat across from him.  
  
So we sat that way for quite some time, not one of our friends speaking due to their fear of Draco's wrath. When the food trolley and plump witch came by, Draco dismissed her before anyone could utter a word. It seemed that if he wasn't in any mood to eat, then no one else should.  
  
"We all have the right to fill ourselves, Draco, even if you don't want to," I had said to him, causing Millicent to hold her breath at my daring of judging him. Millicent may have been a very large girl and very strong, but in truth, she was just a kindly girl with a heart so big it was a bit strange that she wasn't put into Gryffindor.  
  
If you were thick enough, you would have to think of her as a Slytherin's Hagrid.  
  
But to the point, she looked at me with a bit of admiration in her eyes at my sharp tongue. Draco, however, thought it not as highly as her.  
  
"And who says so?" he snapped, gratefully glaring out the window and not at me. "My father always gave the inclination that, outside of our parents control, I would head all of our decisions."  
  
Call me stupid, call me audacious, but I went for the heavy artillery.  
  
"You're father is in jail, Draco," I shot back, the smallest inkling of pride welling up in me at my courage. Everyone else actually gasped at this though.  
  
That was when he turned to face me, his eyes cold fire and fingers tightening a bit. I knew he was fighting the urge to strangle me, but I coaxed it by raising my chin defiantly at him. But his reaction was far more than I asked for.  
  
"All right then," he said in a low hiss. "Crabbe, Goyle; go and find that trolley and bring back as much food as you can. Millicent, Blaise; go with them. You four better hurry, I suspect that witch will be down at the end of the train by now."  
  
"B-but what about Pansy?" Blaise stammered, getting up and inching towards the door behind the others. "Can she come too?"  
  
Draco stared at me thoughtfully for a while. "No," he finally answered, a menacing smile creeping onto his face. "She'll stay here with me. Don't worry Zabini; I'll keep her company."  
  
The look in his eyes set shivers of dread down my spine.  
  
"Okay then," Blaise fearfully replied, and then slid the door shut behind her.  
  
Then it was only Draco and I. How many times had I imagined only the two of us alone in a train compartment? How many times had I wished that he would dismiss everyone else so he could be left with only me? Many times before, I can tell you. But now was not one of them, for I had hit him with the worst insult I could muster and had probably been left in the hands of a starving dragon. Excuse the reference of his name to his example, it was unintentional.  
  
"So Miss Parkinson," he said after a while, saying my name in a way that made me want to cringe in disgust. "You think I'm out of control over Slytherins because my father is.unattainable?"  
  
I breathed in deeply, choosing my words with much care and concentration. "No, Draco, you're not out of control, but you can't control us about everything," I said simply, leaning back against the seat. He was staring at me with narrowed eyes, and it made me very uncomfortable.  
  
"Control over 'us', Pansy; or control over you?" he half-whispered, leaning forward. I definitely saw a glint of menace in his eyes as he rested his elbows on his knees an awaited my answer. But he said my name with a sense of breathlessness, which he knew would make me melt all over. I hated him for knowing me so well.  
  
Yes, Draco knew I practically adored him; and at the moment, he was trying to use it to his advantage.  
  
I could've killed him.  
  
"What-.what do you mean by that?" I tried to answer coolly, angry that I had faltered in the beginning. Draco noticed my falter, and smiled at it.  
  
"You know what I mean," he told me. Then he shifted forward in his seat, so that he was on the edge, moving closer and closer to me. Nervously I crossed my legs, just trying to do any form of movement to take away the attention of my blushing face. But of course Draco noticed; and he couldn't be more delighted.  
  
"No, I don't. And frankly, I don't want to." I was very uncomfortable at that time, but the flame within me had just hit blazing and I feared if it was growing. Then, as Draco began to speak again, his hand began to absently play with my knee, hitting me with such a force that I actually pressed myself against the backrest from it.  
  
"You know, out of all the things in my life the one that I like the most is you, Pansy," he said to me, looking at the floor and speaking in false thoughtfulness. I was only half-listening; all my attention was focused on his hand tapping my knee.  
  
"Well.I-.I think I'm flattered," I said, trying to retain my upper hand. I was loosing terribly.  
  
"And if it came to it, that's saying quite a lot for you." Tap, tap, tap went his finger. "Do you know why I like you so much Pansy?" he asked. I looked up then, shaking my head slowly. He grinned at me. Then he got up from his position and came to sit next to me; very close next to me. Any closer and he would have been sitting on me. I'm pretty sure my heart skipped more than just a beat then.  
  
But I was curious about his question and his sudden need for our closeness. "Draco, what are you doing?" I tried, but he would have no answering of my own questions. He had other things on his mind.  
  
He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me even nearer to himself. "I think I like you for a multiple of reasons. It would be so hard to name them all right now, but there are many." His other arm came up so he could run his cold fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes, almost wishing this wasn't happening. Key word there is 'almost'.  
  
When I looked up at him again, however, his face was coming closer to mine by the second. I could feel his breath on my skin, tingling and light. Our first kiss. We were about to experience our first kiss; my first kiss.  
  
And we were almost there before Draco ruined the moment.horribly, I might add.  
  
"But of all of them," he concluded. "I like you most because, of all the challenges that have come my way, you are the easiest to conquer."  
  
Then the flame died.  
  
It did not flicker out and it did not slowly diminish, but went out as a bucket of water was overturned over it.  
  
But Draco continued to lean in towards me and I would have none of it. I pushed my hand against his shoulder, stopping him. A bit confused, Draco stared at me, trying to decipher my face. Any idiot would have seen that I was angry and hurt; but he's not just any idiot. Draco Malfoy was a rich idiot, and those are the worst.  
  
He had so much as called me 'easy', and in doing so taken my care and adoration for him and stomped on it.  
  
I pushed up, using more force than necessary on purpose. Without a word and with every grave feature on my face genuine, I got up and headed for the door. I didn't have the need to cry; I never cried. Well, never cried truly. Sure I faked it a lot, but never have the tears been real. I thought for a moment they would come now, but I was glad when they didn't.  
  
"Pansy, where are you going?" Draco asked, snatching at my wrist to stop me from leaving. I pulled my hand back instantly, looking back at him in disgust. And would you believe he was actually confused that I was leaving?  
  
"I'm leaving," I said simply. I turned away from him, but he stood up and came to stand behind me, laying his hands on my shoulders and bending forward to whisper in my ear.  
  
"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that," he hissed, making me want to leave that much more. "Because you know it would be a lie."  
  
"You're only doing this because you're angry and depressed and you're looking for any way to take that anger out and use it to your advantage. That wasn't sincere, it was revenge."  
  
I most certainly felt him smile evilly then. "And why would there be any other reason for me touching you?" he replied.  
  
And that's when I left, never wanting to ever look back from that moment on.  
  
Draco  
  
First of all, let me tell you to save me your poor excuse for an evil glare and horrid lectures about my behavior. Just shut your mouth and believe me when I tell you I've felt the error of my ways.  
  
Now, I know I was cruel to Pansy, starting from the train ride to Hogwarts in our first year and for the next four years to follow. And I am aware that I didn't really pay her the attention, let alone the respect that she deserved as a 'friend' of mine. But once again, all I can say in defense of myself is that I was a stupid little boy.  
  
But I also know that no sort of explanation can excuse the way I treated her on that train ride back from Hogwarts.  
  
I used her. I used her and I used her brutally. I was angry with my father going to Azkaban and I blew steam by using the weakness of probably the only person I have ever been nice to. It was cruel, it was merciless-I get the picture.  
  
I wasn't in love with Pansy, but I was kind to her. Her first impression gained her my respect. Not many people can say that about me.  
  
But my head was clouded and all I was thinking was that a good snogging would not make everything better, but at least numb the heat of anger in my veins. But when she denied me, I knew I shouldn't have pressed the matter. My last statement went much too far.  
  
So when I got home I said nothing to my mother and went straight for my room. She never seems to care if I notice her or if she notices me. So in the privacy of my space I replayed that scene in my head over and over again; and every time I did I found something new that's wrong with it. Pansy was never mean to me. In all honesty, she had been my only real friend. Well, she was my only friend.  
  
I felt like crap.  
  
So to clear my surprisingly guilty conscience I changed out of my school robes, donned my usual traveling garb and snatched up a little black box and my leather gloves from atop my dresser. I left my room, headed downstairs, called to my mother that I was going out for a few hours and opened the box as I reached the door. Inside was a small piece of silver metal in the shape of a snake's fang. I took a deep breath and then turned the box over in my hand, dropping the Portkey into my open palm.  
  
I wasn't sure what I was doing, but I felt this odd pang in the pit of my stomach and I guess it was some form or another of guilt. I knew that I had to resolve it and I knew that would only be accomplished when I made amends with Pansy.  
  
When the Portkey halted I found myself in the entrance of Pansy's Manor. The grand staircase lay in front of me with its steps covered in green velvet and below my feet was the black marble I knew all to well. Our parents had created each of us a Portkey specified for one another's houses since the day we had met. I had never used it before hand, but it just went and showed how persistent our folks were about our relationship.  
  
I pocketed the metal fang and removed my gloves; glad that I had worn them because the trip was an hour's broom ride from our manor and a very cold journey. Right when I had just begun to wonder why the house seemed so empty Mrs. Parkinson came walking in from the parlor at the left.  
  
"Draco!" she exclaimed, dropping the book she had been holding onto the floor with a resounding thud. A stately woman with hair lighter than her daughter's, Mrs. Parkinson could make herself look very young, very motherly and very kindly. Oddly enough, she embodied every single one of these traits. Don't look at me; I've been wondering for years how she ever came to be a Death Eater.  
  
"Hello Mrs. Parkinson," I said, attempting to smile politely but finding it much too hard in my current mood. "I'm sorry to drop in so unexpected and so soon."  
  
"Oh no dear; that's quite alright," she had said to me, smiling genuinely and stooping to pick up her book. She wore a plain robe of simple silver, nothing too fancy and nothing too extravagant; the exact opposite of my mother. I think that's why I liked her better. "But you must be tired from your journey home from school this morning. Would you like anything to eat or drink honey?" she asked.  
  
I cringed a bit at her reference of 'honey' towards me. My parents never extended the nicknames farther than 'son'.  
  
"That won't be necessary Mrs. Parkinson. I'm not hungry. But I would like to talk to Pansy; is she here?"  
  
The older woman ran a hand through her hair and looked up towards the staircase. "I think she's in the shower, Draco. But she should be out any second."  
  
For some reason, I felt the heat rush up my neck at the prospect of Pansy in the shower. I quickly suppressed the thought before it became too vivid.  
  
"Er-," I began, coughing a bit to try and take the attention off my flushing face. "Could I wait for her than? I really need to talk to her."  
  
This seemed to delight Mrs. Parkinson very much. She loved that Pansy and I were such good friends. Honestly, this woman could have been leader of the rising Hufflepuffs. Even stranger, I did not hold that against her.  
  
"Of course you can wait Draco. Go on into the parlor and I'll tell her you're here." And with a warm smile and nod of her head, she Apparated out of there to her daughter's bedroom. Breathing rather hard and rapid, I hurried into the parlor and slid the doors shut behind myself. The parlor was spacious yet cozy, consisting of one large fireplace on the long wall. Armchairs fill the room and shelves of books and albums lined the walls. A desk sat in front of the bay window to the far left and outside I could see that a summer shower had began to soak the ground.  
  
Though it was warm in the room from the fire I did not remove my cloak; I was too busy trying to come up with a good apology in my mind. I had resorted to pacing the room so that when her voice said my name I turned around in surprise, completely caught off-guard and not, in any way, prepared for our encounter. 


	3. The Way You Affect Me

A/N: Okay, so this chapter three in 'The Way'; only one of the few chapters in this multi-chapter story. So don't worry, it won't be some weird fanfic with no closure like I usually do. =) Anyway, I hope that everyone who is reading this will also read my other fanfic 'The Oracles of Prodigy', because I just wish I had more reviews! =P. Oh, and for anyone who thought Pansy will meet Draco in the parlor all wet and dripping and wearing nothing but a towel, (ahem.Liz.), you're wrong!!!! This is a romance fic, not American Pie! Hehe.don't worry, I still think that movie is somewhat funny.in it's own way. Anywho, onward with the story!!!!  
  
Chapter Three ~ The Way You Affect Me  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Once I got home I hugged my mother in her usual welcome and then dashed for my room. Thank goodness that my mom was smarter than most because she always could tell when I wanted my privacy. She would give me a few hours before she came to talk to me.  
  
In my room I threw my bags on the floor and fell hard onto my bed. Though I wished for them, tears would not come for me, because I wasn't sad. Why wasn't I sad?  
  
I rolled onto my side and fingered the pink coverlet lying across my bed. I didn't like the coverlet. I looked up and saw my armchair near the window. It was pink too. I didn't like that armchair; it was pink. My whole room was pink. I hated pink; but I didn't hate Draco. Why didn't I hate Draco?  
  
I turned over and buried my face into the pillows, growing more and more confused by the minute. Trying to clear my head, I breathed in the sweet smell of my bed cloths. They always smelled of lavender and rosemary, thinning out the smog that was clouding my mind. I loved these herbs that my mother always took the time to mix for my room; I've loved them since I was little. But I didn't love Draco anymore. Why didn't I still love Draco?  
  
"Pansy, sweetheart," my mother called from the hallway, her voice interrupting my thoughts. "Are you alright in there?"  
  
I sat up quickly, straightening my hair for no purpose at all. "Yes Mum; I'm fine," I called back, hopping off the bed quickly so I could lock the door before she came in. It wasn't as though I hated my mother; it was just I didn't feel up to talking to her when I, myself, didn't even know how I really felt. On my way to the door I stubbed my toe on the bed post.  
  
"Would you like to have a late tea with me honey? We could sit in the parlor, just you and me and talk about your year? I know it was.different." I could hear my mother's voice shake a bit at the end. Papa had been one of the Death Eaters at the Ministry the night Harry Potter and five others were found. He had been sent to Azkaban along with Draco's father. I knew my mother was a supporter of the Dark Lord, but she wasn't a huge 'hands on' person.  
  
"Actually, I was planning to just take a shower before dinner," I forced out, biting back my shout of frustration as I hopped on my one good foot. After the pain subsided somewhat I made a face at my bed and kicked it in revenge. I didn't want revenge on Draco. Why didn't I want revenge on Draco?  
  
I hurried over and slowly slid the bolt into its place so as not to hurt my mother's feelings.  
  
"Okay then sweetie," she answered, not the least bit disappointed. "Do you need anything?"  
  
"Er-," I stalled, not exactly sure if I understood her question. My mind was much too clouded with thoughts of Draco; or make that the lack of thoughts of Draco. Everything happening to me was very strange. "I don't really-you know what Mum, could you grab me my childhood album from the parlor?"  
  
There was a small hesitation. "Why would you want that honey?"  
  
"I don't know. I just.wanted to take a trip down memory lane, I guess." I stopped on my way to my bathroom, waiting for her reply. The pause was extremely long.  
  
"Will Draco be joining us for tonight Pansy?" she asked softly.  
  
I stared at the doorway. I waited for the sudden intake of breath at the actual mention of his name. I waited for the rapid flutter in my stomach at the image of his face. I waited for the unexpected weakness in my knees at the mere memory of him. Well, you could probably guess that none of this happened; and oddly enough, you'd be right.  
  
"No Mum. I think Draco won't be dropping by as often as before," was my answer. My mother was silent. Before, Draco hardly dropped by; and for a moment, I was actually relieved to think that he never would again.  
  
"Okay," was her only reply before her footsteps slowly died away.  
  
Somewhat afraid that she would return and attempt to engage me in more conversation, I quickly pulled my self out of my school clothes and hurried into the shower, all the while my mind slowly sorting out what was going on.  
  
I wasn't disappointed with Draco, but I wasn't fine with him either. I didn't hate him, but love was definitely not the reason for it. He had hurt me, but I didn't want some form of merciless revenge on him. So what was my view to him? What were my feelings for this blonde-haired, grey- eyed boy that had been more or less the god of my idolatry? What?  
  
And then it hit me just as the warm water began running down my back. The force of it was enough to knock me senseless, but the mere strangeness of it kept me standing. What I felt for Draco was-there's no other word for it-nothing; absolute, final, pure and undeniable nothing.  
  
When I first thought about it, it seemed irrational. How could you feel nothing for someone? But the more I explored it, the more sense it made. Nothing was what came when I heard myself speak his name out loud. Nothing was what occurred when I recalled the image of his face; and nothing was my only companion when I remembered his every move and every sound.  
  
I felt nothing for Draco.  
  
And it couldn't have made me happier. I was free of my stupid infatuation with him at last. It may not have turned out the way I thought it would, but I liked it. I didn't exactly feel fuller, but lighter. It was as though I had shed a great burden from my shoulders and now I could walk a little straighter than before.  
  
For a long time I remained in the shower, taking comfort in the warm water on my skin. I washed away eight years during that time; eight years of an ignorant crush, of unrequited love, of ill-spent moments and of the Malfoy who had started them all. And I watched eight years of Draco go down the drain. Oddly enough, I had to work to suppress my grin.  
  
"Pansy?" came a sudden voice from outside my bathroom door. I started, caught off-guard by my mother's call. I hated when she Apparated into my room, but grateful of her courtesy not to randomly materialize in my bathroom.  
  
"Yes Mum?" I called, rinsing out my hair.  
  
"I got the book you wanted," she said. I smiled, a great deal more cheerful than when I first arrived home.  
  
"Thank you mother," I called back in my sweetest voice. Her reply did nothing in return to it.  
  
"And Draco's here sweetheart. He just dropped in. He wanted to speak to you, but I said you were in the shower."  
  
I silently prayed that my mother sent him away.  
  
"He's waiting in the parlor right now Pansy." Crap. "Hurry up now, so you can go meet him before dinner is served." Then there was a small pop and she was gone.  
  
I don't think I could have been more furious. What kind of conscience did this guy have if he could just walk right into my home after humiliating me and hurting me like he did? It was uncanny! Then again, this was Draco, and he never seemed to get the hint that people didn't want him around. Oh stuff it; I'm furious and he deserves some verbal abuse now and then.  
  
Quickly turning off the water, I dried my self and then shrugged on my bath robe. I resolved to take as long as I could in hopes that he would get impatient and bored and just leave. So I sat myself in front of my vanity and went to work on brushing my hair until it dried. I didn't even grant him the etiquette to do even this small task quickly enough. But after maybe ten minutes of this, my mother popped in again and insisted that I hurry up. When she had gone, I could do nothing but change and go down to meet a fate I certainly didn't want to see.  
  
And to make it worse, my only form of clothing were my night clothes. Typical that Draco would come on the one day I had nothing to wear because I just arrived home and none of my clothes had been prepared yet. Oh the downsides of being rich; it really was pathetic.  
  
And to add to the humiliation, my mother had set out a nice set of pink, silk pajamas and a pink, silk robe to match. Mortification wouldn't have done me justice.  
  
When I was dressed, I stalled a few more minutes by tying my damp hair back with a, (get this), pink, silk ribbon and then headed down the grand staircase and into the entrance way.  
  
The door to the parlor was closed, hiding my view of the person within it. So, taking a deep breath, I walked to it and slid one door back, two thirds confident and one third afraid.  
  
He was standing next to the bay window behind the desk, his back almost completely towards me. He mustn't have heard me entering because he didn't turn around. For a moment I inspected him, trying to call back the flutter or the weakness or the intake of breath like before. I'm proud to say that the most I could muster was a sigh of utter boredom.  
  
He dressed as he usually did, as if he were going to a business meeting rather than visiting a former friend's house. He donned black trousers, a dark green turtleneck, black cloak and leather gloves tucked into his pocket. He stood much like he always did: one shoulder leaning against the window frame, his arms most definitely folded in front of his chest and one foot crossed over the other.  
  
Wanting to get this over with, I drew his attention.  
  
"Draco?" I called quietly, sliding the door back into place and walking more into the room. He turned around, and for a second there was a look in his eyes that I couldn't place, but I was certain I had seen it somewhere else before. He didn't say anything. "What are you doing here?" I asked, standing in front of the fireplace.  
  
He walked maybe two steps towards me, his arms set stiffly at his sides. He looked awkward and more vulnerable then usual, but I took it to no account.  
  
"I-er.I just dropped by to see how you were doing," he said. I wasn't sure if he knew it, but that was the lamest excuse I had ever heard. I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.  
  
"Really?" I asked, my sarcasm coming from somewhere other than myself at the moment. "Well, I guess I'm not that much different from when you saw me six hours ago." I crossed my own arms, sitting into one hip and glaring him much in the same way Granger did when she wouldn't back down. At the moment, I blessed her dearly.  
  
"Pansy, look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to say those things I said," Draco started, but of course, I interrupted him. I may have felt nothing towards him, but anger was running it very close.  
  
"Oh, I see now. You didn't mean to *say* them, but you meant them, right?" I retaliated, boring my opposing dark eyes into his light ones. To my odd satisfaction, I saw the smallest inkling of hurt in them.  
  
"That's not true," he tried, but I was in no mood to actually listen to him.  
  
I gave a very cold and very dark laugh. "Of course it isn't. Where did I ever get that kind of thought! You've only treated my like dragon dung for the past eight years of our acquaintance, so why on earth would something as ludicrous as you actually saying cruel things to me be true?" I turned on my heel and walked back to the armchair near the far wall, curling into it and staring evilly at him from across the room.  
  
He looked a bit awestruck and more hurt than ever, but I wasn't about to fall for the whimpering puppy, so I remained seated. He walked in front of the fire now, the dancing rain outside and the flickering flames in the grate painting his features with shadows.  
  
"Now tell me the truth, Draco," I said, all sincerity present. "Why are you here?"  
  
I didn't appreciate the elongated pause.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"Draco?" she called from behind, the sound of her voice a tad confident and a bit afraid. It was odd, but at the sound of her voice my stomach flipped and my breathing became rather uneven. Okay, I take it back; odd doesn't do me any credit.  
  
Trying to remember that I was Draco Malfoy and practically ruled the world, I turned around to face my fate. I couldn't have been more unprepared.  
  
She stood near the fireplace, her dark eyes unreadable and her expression implacable. Her head was cocked to one side and she looked so small in the huge parlor. For a moment I was caught back to when we first met, and I found that I was looking at her much in the same way I did when she first walked into my life. I blinked rapidly, focusing on what she was wearing so I wouldn't be held hostage in my memories.  
  
Bad idea.  
  
It wasn't as though she were wearing a guy's fantasy ensemble, but, (I can't believe I'm saying this), she looked--well.cute. Just hex me now.  
  
She wore her night clothes, probably because she had just gotten home from school and hadn't had any day clothes prepared for her. The only reason I had any was because my mother required me to have a top of the line closet at all times. Oh the perks of being rich, or at least being me.  
  
As much as she hated it, I had to admit that Pansy looked good in pink. The silk pajamas were a tad big on her, the way she always liked it, but it did her small frame justice. Her robe hung loosely about her and her slippers finished the outfit off perfectly, because that's what she looked like: perfect. Perfect, save for the fact that she had tied her hair up in a pink ribbon. Just as in our first meeting, I had to exercise the control not to tear it away and let her hair fall around her face.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked me, curious and a bit annoyed as well. At her question, however, I found that I had nothing to say. A right out apology would have sounded weak, but beating around the bush would make me look stupid; but if I didn't answer her soon, she'd know that she was making me nervous.  
  
"I-er.I just dropped by to see how you were doing," was my reply. And the award for the lamest excuse ever goes to.  
  
"Really?" she asked, embodying ever bit of sarcasm that I had inflicted upon her for the past eight years. "Well, I guess I'm not that much different from when you saw me six hours ago."  
  
The way she crossed her arms then and leaned into one hip reminded me of Granger, but it didn't look as menacing and cruel as when the Mudblood did it. In fact, the way she looked at me made me feel ten times worse than I already did.  
  
After that, I couldn't really remember what happened. I recall apologizing, but she didn't take me seriously, and I couldn't blame her. The exact details are lost to me, as every sense other than my sight began to slur together. I found that all my attention had been put to the use of simply looking at her. I wasn't even watching her, but just simply looking at her as though she were frozen in time like a picture, framed by the soft glow from the fire. Suddenly, my stomach flipped again, but this time it was accompanied by gentle tugging where my heart was. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.  
  
But then she turned away from me and at first I was afraid that she would leave with no closure; but she only made her way to the armchair farthest away from me, curling into it and glaring at me from across the room. That was when I moved into the firelight and completely lost myself in my emotions. Yes, you unbelievable bloke, I have emotions too; along with a pulse, a lungs and, whoa be the day I received it, a heart as well.  
  
"Now tell me the truth, Draco," she demanded. "Why are you here?"  
  
What could I say to this?  
  
"At the moment, I'm not sure," escaped my lips. Flash idiot across my face and you would tell no lies. "But hell would have me in no other place." Smooth. And where those words came from, I'll never know.  
  
But it seemed they surprised not only my self, but Pansy as well. Her eyes grew slightly wide and her shoulders relaxed a bit in confusion. So alluring were these small changes that it would have been impossible for me to stay away much longer. One step, two steps, three steps closer did I go until I stood in front of her, gazing blankly down at her form. Her confusion more apparent at this angle, she strived to regain the upper hand of anger on me.  
  
"Don't give me any of that bull-," she started, but stopped; and for very good reason. I had knelt in front of her, my actions no longer of my accord, and reached a pale hand towards her hair, pulling the ribbon from where it imprisoned the sheet of darkness and threw it backward into the fire. As it sizzled and burned, her dark brown tresses fell about her face, falling just past her shoulders and only partly dry. Astonishment claimed her features, and my own face was oblivious to my own rather aggressive motions.  
  
"Pansy, I'm sorry," I said again, boring my eyes into hers. "I didn't mean anything I said on the train, and I'd take it all back if I could. Well," I started, bringing my hand to her hair unconsciously. I just had to touch her somehow, make contact between us. Her hair was damp and soft, filling my nostrils with her fresh and intoxicating scent. "Not everything. I meant it when I said that I liked you best."  
  
She sniffed, unconvinced. "Oh yes, I remember that. You liked me best because I was the easiest to conquer." She stared at me coldly. "How could I forget that?"  
  
Ouch.  
  
"No," I replied, almost whispering. The closeness of her, the heat radiating from her body, the fresh aroma of lavender and rosemary were suffocating me; fogging my vision and leaving room for only one thought: I wanted her. I wanted her more than anything in my entire life. Not wanted in the sense that I would have thrown on the nearest bed and shagged her to death; but wanted her in the sense just to hold her, to kiss her, and to know that she wanted me too.  
  
"Draco," she started, her voice low and enticing. I leaned closer to her.  
  
"I like you best because you're Pansy," I finished, my tone so quiet that I wasn't even sure that she had heard me. And the thought that she hadn't heard was sort of reassuring to me. Any more pathetic and I could have thrown in my Slytherin Prefect badge and applied for Hufflepuffs United.  
  
But as my face grew nearer to hers, I thought nothing more of it. To some deep piece of my heart, I found satisfaction at the anticipation and bewilderment crossing her face before our lips met. Our first kiss.  
  
Crap; now I sounded like a Gryffindor!  
  
Once we touched there was no room for thought, only room for Pansy and Pansy alone. She did push away or even stiffen as I kissed her, but leaned into it almost a determined manner. As for myself, I was caught in the haze that was her alone, wanting to only be closer and closer to her.  
  
But in the position we were in, it was impossible. So I stood up, pulling her along with me and never breaking contact. My hands found the small of her back and I held her tighter, grinning inwardly at how perfectly we fit together. Her silk robe was cool under my hands, but I didn't want cool. I wanted the warmth that was her. So I snaked my hands inside her robe and around her waist, practically feeling the heat of her skin through the material. Her hands stayed immobile on my shoulder, though her kiss grew more and more aggressive. Hey, it wasn't as though I was complaining.  
  
And moreover, I never wanted the moment to end. I wanted us to stay locked in that kiss forever; nothing more and nothing less. Just standing there, our bodies connected by our kiss.  
  
But it seemed that Pansy did not share that same wish.  
  
Slowly, one hand fell from my shoulder, tracing my arm to where my left hand was placed firmly on her back. She was still kissing me, but it was slower and gentler than before. Still, I had nothing to complain about. But then she took hold of my hand and removed it from her, placing her hand palm to palm with my own. I didn't truly care about that, until she ever-so-slowly pulled away on a fraction of an inch, her breath uneven but quiet. I looked down to her, befuddled on my own part that I, Draco Malfoy, had actually kissed Pansy Parkinson. I was ecstatic.  
  
"Draco," she said again, and I pulled her closer, gently, with my right hand at the sound of my name. "Draco."  
  
"Yes?" I asked, trying to suppress the smile that was battling to take over my face. I leaned down again to reestablish contact, but was stopped very abruptly. She pushed me away lightly by our connected palms, her face full of pity and yet void of all emotion at the same time.  
  
"Draco-I think you better go home," she said. She stared at the ground, thoroughly refusing to meet my eyes.  
  
At first I was puzzled, not really understanding what she had said. "What?"  
  
She sighed. "I think you better go home," she repeated more firmly. "Your mother will be worried about you." She skirted around me and headed for the doors, making it obvious that she didn't want to explain herself further. I, on the other hand, wasn't going to let her off so easy.  
  
"Pansy.what are you talking about?"  
  
"Go home Draco."  
  
"Pansy-," I began again, the sure sound of pleading in my voice as I reached forward to stop her from leaving. She anticipated this, however, and turned around, avoiding my grasp. She then stared at me in a way that not only flipped my stomach and made my chest ache, but sent a chill sensation up my spine.  
  
"Just go home," she said, in a very final tone; and if she would have continued, I knew what her last words would have been: 'and just never come back'. It was written in her every feature, in the way she looked and in the way she stood. For a second she held my gaze, my surprised, hurt and confused gaze. But then turned around every so slowly and left through the doors, sliding them closed to my blankly horrified expression. 


	4. The Way You Were

Chapter Four ~ The Way You Were  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Now believe me when I say that I did not want that kiss. Honestly, I didn't; but wait for a second-I need to explain myself.  
  
When he came towards me I was little more than confused. When he threw my ribbon into the fire I was a tad frightened. When he ran his fingers through my hair I was very uncomfortable. And before he kissed me, he whispered something, though I didn't hear a word of it.  
  
And the kiss.  
  
It was unexpected, that was for sure. Draco wasn't one to act belligerent-never mind, yes he was. But anyway, the way he did it wasn't normal. The soft brush of his lips, the gentle pleasure at my reaction and the way in which he was none too aggressive. It was almost as if he wanted to kiss me because he actually liked me.  
  
But I didn't like him; I couldn't even tolerate him anymore. So why didn't I pull away sooner? Because I wasn't sure; I wasn't sure if my feelings for him had truly disappeared. I needed to know if I could still care for him, still want him and still love him. When he pulled me towards him I only grew more forceful, searching, almost praying, for the ache inside me that was for Draco. But I found none.  
  
It wasn't as though I didn't enjoy it; anyone who was anyone would wish to be kissed that way. Strangely enough, I could feel this sense of need inside of him; especially when his hands went under my robe, the tingling of his skin piercing the thin fabric of my clothes. But other than the sprig of the pleasure that accompanied our kiss, there was nothing else.  
  
So it was final; I no longer needed nor wanted Draco Malfoy. Knowing this, I lost my force, pulling his hand away from me and holding it against my palm. Between our touching hands there was air; empty air consisting of a void. I broke contact then, but only pulling away a fraction of an inch. I couldn't part any farther, for his hand prevented me from it.  
  
"Draco," I had said, much too quiet for the request I was about to give. But he pulled me only closer, and I didn't want that. "Draco."  
  
"Yes?" he asked. The corners of his mouth twitch, giving the inclination that he was trying hard not to smile. I didn't want him to smile; moreover, I didn't want him to smile because of me.  
  
So I pushed him away by our hands, surprising him no more than I did myself.  
  
"Draco-I think you better go home," I said, staring at the ground and avoiding his eyes. I could almost see the perplexed look on his face. One minute we were caught in one another's arms, in one of the most intimate of connections, and then next I'm sending him home like a naughty little boy causing trouble. It would have puzzled anyone.  
  
I don't remember much after that other than getting out of there. He protested at one point, but I sent him on his way and closed the doors on his face. I didn't wait for him to leave and I wasn't even sure if he was going to. My plan was to go in my room and stay there forever, but at that exact moment, my mother came by.  
  
"Did Draco go already Pansy?" she asked, passing by with a letter in her hand. She wasn't looking at me, but was reading the letter avidly.  
  
"Yes," I said, though I wasn't even sure about that fact. I looked at the envelope my mother was holding and noticed that the crest on the seal was one of a very large and very menacing 'A'. "Azkaban," I whispered, staring strongly at the parchment in my mother's hand. I looked at her and she returned my gaze. "Papa," I whispered again, and she only nodded before heading for the kitchen.  
  
Since his capture, Papa has been writing to my mother and me weekly from his cell in Azkaban. He sends his love and says that he's sorry he isn't here for us, but between the lines are evil plots and praises for the Dark Lord. First off, no one is allowed to contact anyone outside of the island, let alone a close-knit party of Death Eaters. Then again, since the dementors fled the fortress and wizard Aurors have taken their posts instead, money can be a valuable trading token. Oh the perks of being rich.  
  
Glancing back towards the closed doors of the parlor, I headed after my mother, having the feeling that Draco had already left for his manor. A Malfoy was not one to dawdle at the scene of his greatest humiliation or his greatest disappointment. And though I didn't feel sorry for the wrong that I did not commit, deep inside I felt the stirrings of pity.  
  
Shaking off the feeling, I went to follow my mother into the dining hall. She was sitting at the head of the ancient ebony table, her head bent over the letter and her fist clenched around a small, purple vial with a gold stopper. She didn't show it, but I knew she was angry about something by the red flush creeping up her cheeks.  
  
"Mum, what's wrong?" I asked, stepping into the room. She looked up abruptly, as if the sound of her daughter's voice was foreign to her.  
  
"What? Oh-nothing's wrong sweetheart. Nothing.nothing at all." But she trailed off, and I knew she was lying to spare me disappointment. I went to sit next to her, sliding the envelope towards me. The handwriting was most certainly my father's, and the letter was addressed to both my mother and myself.  
  
"What does he say this time?" I asked, very much interested. If I had to admit it, I was the biggest daddy's girl in the world. Ever since I was little all I had to do was think of wanting something and my father would get it for me. Oddly enough, he was much more of a family man than most Death Eaters; he loved my mother with all his heart and he loved me with all his soul. Yet through all this, the respect and loyalty he had for the Dark Lord never wavered.  
  
My mother sighed. "He says his usual honey, not much news when you're in a cell." She grinned at me, and I couldn't help but return the smile.  
  
"Read it to me?" I pleaded, using my sweetest voice and batting my eyelashes like a good little girl. My mother rolled her eyes.  
  
"Oh alright then, if you insist." She held up the letter and cleared her throat as an affect of a dramatic dialogue. "Here we go:  
  
Dearest Family,  
I sit here in my cell with nothing but dark clouds and a dank, stone floor for company, yet I am not saddened. Why? Because my mind is filled with the thought that when I get out, I will see my family again.  
Zhyerra, how is everything my wife? Is the house out of sorts due to my absence? But no, it couldn't be; you are there and nothing can go wrong when you're around. I miss you darling.  
And to my girl Pansy; how was your school year sweetheart? I'm sorry I wasn't there to pick you up from the train. You know that I wanted to and that I miss you and love you very much."  
  
Here, my mother paused and held up the purple vial. I noticed that the crest engraved in gold on the front was our family's own. If you looked hard enough, you could see the Dark Mark hidden in all the intricate lines and patterns.  
  
"Here is a little something that I bought for you Pansy. I asked one of the guards to order it for me; I told him that I only wanted to get my little girl a present in celebration of her first year as a school prefect. I ordered it from a Gypsy woman in India. She told me it was a special concoction that she brews and has an exceptional fragrance. I want only the best for my little girl.  
But to my Zhyerra, I have business matters to discuss with you-  
  
"-and this is where he cuts to the Dark Arts and how I should stay faithful to the Dark Lord; just the same old same old Pansy. Here you go honey."  
  
She handed me the vial and I slipped it into my robe pocket. It was cold to the touch and sent shivers up and down my arm. "Thanks Mum."  
  
"And how is Draco sweetie? Will he be coming by again later?"  
  
"No," I replied abruptly, and dashed out of the room before she could ask another question, calling out my excuse of my haste as I left. "I'm a bit tired my self mother; I think I'll take dinner up in my room for tonight."  
  
I didn't wait for her approval. I headed for my room, bolted the door once more and fell onto my bed, throwing my robe and slippers on the armchair near the window. For a while I stared up at my canopy, thinking of what had happened in the parlor. But soon, I realized that reliving it would do me no good, so I snatched the album my mother brought off the floor where it fell and sat at my vanity with it. Flipping through it, I paused on the first page showing a picture of Draco and myself in it.  
  
It was from when we first met. Our parents had me sit very proper and regal in an armchair while Draco stood beside it. They had taken so long for the picture that you could see the boredom on our faces. Now my picture self was slouching back in the armchair, legs swinging over the edge and my hair beginning to muss up. Draco, apt as he always acted, let fall his dignified stance but was slouching over the chair's arm, head resting on hand and finger tapping excessively. He turned to me in the armchair and whispered something, making me actually smile and laugh a bit. He smiled in return, and then we went back to being bored.  
  
And that's when I realized that this Draco, this Draco in the picture at the age of eight, was one that I wouldn't mind having. Maybe it was the fact that he looked so innocent, or that he didn't really have the motive yet to hide things from me and use me as just another crony. Or maybe it was the fact that we actually looked like friends in this picture.  
  
I closed the cover of the album and went back to my bed, falling asleep without any dinner and far too many problems swimming inside my head.  
  
*Draco*  
  
The downfall of losing the one thing you want is the haunting fact that it's the only thing you can think about.  
  
I left Parkinson Manor maybe three seconds after she had gone. Malfoys don't dawdle at the scene of their greatest humiliation or their greatest disappointment. The Portkey deposited me in the gazebo in our rose garden, so that's where I am at the very moment, three hours after 'The Encounter'.  
  
The rose garden is beautiful at night, with every color rose known to wizard kind blooming from every inch of green earth. My mother was fond of white roses and my father red. Mother said white revealed the importance of purity and father said red revealed the importance of ancient blood. The core of our family: pureblood.  
  
But in my opinion, I admired the black roses the most. By myth and legend, they were symbols for demons, the black rose. Personally I thought it was because of the contrast that the two made together; a rose, the most exquisite flower, that represents the allure of evil mixed with black, the essence of darkness and turmoil.  
  
But Pansy was different from all three Malfoys on the outlook of roses; very, very different.  
  
Her family came to stay with us when we were both ten; Mr. Parkinson and my father had vital business together in which they could not afford the wasted time of Apparating back and forth from one another's home. Our mother's saw it as a good way for even their little ones to bond, so Pansy moved into our Manor for two weeks. It was fall at the time.  
  
Every day, after I had my finishing lesson with my tutors, I was allowed the entire afternoon to myself. During these rare moments of privacy, I would come down to the rose garden and sit in this exact gazebo, not doing much more than sitting and looking at the array of colors in bloom.  
  
One day, as I came running through the gate surrounding the area, I saw Pansy standing in the old, dark marquee, leaning over one side and smelling the roses. I didn't see her very often, as we both had separate finishing lessons and the manor being so big; so I wasn't sure how to act around her. I didn't want to leave, because this was my house and I always came to the rose garden after lessons.  
  
"Er-hi Pansy," I stammered, walking slowly through the pergola's entrance and into the shade. She didn't jump or turn around, but answered me nonetheless.  
  
"I'm sorry if I'm not supposed to be here, but I love roses so much." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as a small breeze whipped by and lifted her hair. "You have a very pretty garden. Do you like roses?"  
  
Now I wasn't about to tell her my favorite was the black ones, because the idea that a ten-year-old boy liked roses wasn't a fact that could intimidate most people. So I just shrugged and sat on the bench. "Actually, I don't much care for roses myself."  
  
"Oh. Well, you come down here everyday, so I thought they appealed to you in some way."  
  
The way she spoke would have impressed most people, but it didn't do much to me as we had both taken are vocabulary exams today. Upper class wizarding families were known to be educated beyond average, so it applied to the children as well.  
  
"So what about you," I started to ask. "What's your favorite rose?"  
  
"I don't have a favorite," she told me, turning around and sitting on the rail. "I love them all."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense," I told her. "You have to have a favorite. My father and mother's are the white a red ones, because they represent the purity of blood; and I like-well I did like-the black ones because they are symbols from legend and myth. So how about you, what's your favorite?"  
  
She looked at me then, very strongly, and said "You don't always have to like things for a specific reason, Draco. But you can love things just for what they are. The roses make me happy, so I love them all." She turned around then and plucked a pink rose from the nearest bush. She hopped down and sat very close next to me, handing me the flower. I took it without question, staring at it with a confused look on my face. "So what makes you happy, Draco?" she asked, and then got up and walked away, back into the house. I stayed there until dinner time, staring at the pink rose in my hand.  
  
I learned something important from her that day, and now I know the answer to her question. In all my life, if I looked back on it, I was never really happy unless she was there with me. I didn't show it, but I was happy at our fourth year Yule Ball. She was with me and didn't reproach me about ignoring her all night as I held my grudge against Granger. When we were made prefects together, we had fun abusing our position, even though it was against school policy; and in the rose garden five years ago, I felt content just sitting there with her.  
  
My answer to her question is her; she is what makes me happy. She is what I can love for who she is. She's my rose.  
  
Now all I have to do is make her see that. 


	5. The Way It Began Once More

Chapter Five ~ The Way It Began Once More  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Draco dropped by the next day. An unexpected event, I know. But all in all, it wasn't so bad. It was almost as if we were starting over.  
  
Here, let me start from the beginning.  
  
When I woke up I found that I was lying comfortably in my bed under the covers and not sprawled over the cloths. One of the servants must have placed me there when they brought up my dinner and found me unconscious. Anyway, I showered and dressed and headed down the main staircase. I intended to go to our stables and spend the day with the many magical creatures our manor bred, but my plans were cut short by the unexpected visitor waiting in the living area.  
  
Three guesses who.  
  
Draco sat in the antique sofa cushion my great-great-grandparents inherited from the Court of King Arthur when Camelot was lost into the mists. Though I despised red, (for Gryffindor purposes), my mother made it clear to the entire household that if anyone transfigured the sofa to be green in any way, she would make sure they'd be permanently green as well. Needless to say that King Arthur's furniture remained just as it would look had it been used by him or that tactless Queen Guinevere in their own time.  
  
Anyway, I was only passing by the living area when I stopped and back tracked to see who had taken residence within it. The dark turtleneck, the black cloak thrown over the armrest and platinum blonde hair told me all I needed to know about this mysterious intruder. I didn't want to see him, let alone talk to him, but for some reason I called out his name. Thankfully I had worn something black and not pink that morning.  
  
"Draco?" I asked, stepping into the room. He turned around in his seat and looked up at me. Once he saw who I was, he jumped to his feet; and to my unexpected amusement, he bowed as well.  
  
"Good morning Pansy," he said, much too politely for someone whose surname was Malfoy. His formality, however, did much to lighten my outlook on him. Just like the little girl I used to be, I burst out into laughter. Sleep can do people with problems much good.  
  
"Whatever you do, please never bow to anyone again," I said, walking into the room. I looked up at him and saw a grin working its way onto his features. But unlike last night, I didn't mind it being there because of me. He looked eight again; and eight I didn't mind. "But what are you doing here so early?" I asked, pulling together my composure.  
  
Right before Draco could answer, my mother came into the room followed by one of the house elves who worked in the kitchens. In his hands he carried a silver tray with a pitcher and two glasses on it with a plate of scones lying next to it all.  
  
"It's so good to hear from your mother, Draco; I hope she's doing well without-Pansy! Well, I didn't think you'd be up so early this morning sweetheart. You looked down right beat when I came to bring you your dinner last night."  
  
She brought my dinner? I know my mom was fabulous beyond any Slytherin mother, but volunteering to bring my dinner when she could have sent a servant was still a bit odd.  
  
"Yeah, well, I had a good night mother," I told her. Not really wanting to stay and find out why Draco was there, I headed for the door, but was stopped by my mom once more.  
  
"Where are you going now Pansy?" she asked me. I sighed and answered her without turning around.  
  
"Stables," was my only reply. I waited, feeling both pairs of eyes on my back. "I'll probably grab something to eat on my way out," I said, answering my mother's unasked question. Another long pause. "Can I go now?"  
  
"Why don't you take Draco with you?" my mom insisted. "You two don't spend enough time with one another nowadays."  
  
Not enough time?! For the last 42 hours I had seen far too much of him for my own liking!  
  
"Yeah, sure," I replied dully. "Why not?"  
  
Without waiting, I started for the back door; forcing open the back door and letting it swing back to hit Draco in the face. Unfortunately, Draco is quicker than most Slytherins and he stopped it before it got anywhere near his complexion. To Hell with those Quidditch reflexes.  
  
"Hey, Pansy," he called out, trotting forward to catch up with me. I kept my steady pace, making sure I gave the impression that I wasn't going to cut his head off, but that I wasn't going to lay out the red carpet for him either.  
  
"Yes?" I asked politely. We had already passed the stream and were coming up to the stables.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry about last night and I want you to know that you don't have to--,"  
  
"Save it Draco," I interrupted, pushing open the stable door and squinting from the sudden dimming of light. "Why don't we just forget it ever happened, okay?" I walked on, passing the stable hands and nodding to each one in turn. On their part, every one of them lowered their head to me but bowed to Draco. It was only proper that a houseguest of sheer dignity by his surname should gain the higher respect above the house resident. Page 87 paragraph five of the Pureblood Handbook. Oh yeah, there really is such a thing.  
  
"Oh," he replied a bit quietly, but then regained his usually cold drawl. In a way, I had missed it when it was replaced by his sudden helplessness that I really didn't know the origin of. "So why are we here?"  
  
Nodding to the stable hand tending to the unicorns I replied, "I live here, Draco. The more accurate question would be what are you doing here?"  
  
"Your mother sent me--,"  
  
"No. What are you doing here at all?"  
  
"Oh, that. Well, my mother needed to give yours a letter so she sent me on the errand. She said I needed to spend more time with.you." He looked away then, watching the chimera sleeping peacefully in her cage.  
  
"Right," was all I could say in return. I unhooked the unicorn's gate and walked in, breathing in the fresh scent that came from their pen. Unlike muggle horses, unicorns did not leave a putrid smell of hay and droppings around in their wake. Contrary to the hay, fresh grass grew straight from the ground in the large pen where they were kept, with a few magically conjured trees to ensure them a natural habitat feel. Besides, unicorns were the essence of everything pure, so how could such a magnificent creature smell bad in any way?  
  
But being the essence of purity, it was against Wizard Law to breed any at all. The value of their blood was much too high and the magic kept in their horns was a rare commodity. But being a pureblood family, we naturally thought Wizard Law was under us, so we did what we liked in the matter. I was glad my father kept the unicorns, however, because they were my comfort zone. I came to them for relaxation as Draco went to his rose garden for relaxation. To this day I still don't know what is so appealing about that place.  
  
I walked to the closest one, being a mare, and stroked her between her eyes, calming her a bit.  
  
"Zedric," I called to the stable hand, keeping my eyes on the mare. "Could you pass me the pen knife and pouch hanging on the post? I needed some--," But when I turned around it wasn't Zedric who was handing me the knife and pouch, but Draco. His face was impassive, though his entire demeanor did not seem that way. "Thanks," I replied, and took the utensils from his hand. Nodding his head in response, he backed away a little so he could lean against the fence. As I turned back to the mare I could just imagine his crossed arms, his cocked head and stormy grey eyes.  
  
"So, his names Zedric?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. Tying the velvet pouch to the belt of my skirt, I nodded. Then, realizing the 'humor' in his question I rolled my eyes and looked back at him.  
  
"Not like Cedric Diggory, you bloke. If anyone in this manor was named after that show-off I'd curse them back to Hufflepuff."  
  
"Aren't you being a bit judgmental?"  
  
I turned back to the task at hand. "And are you not being judgmental enough?"  
  
"Alright; I surrender." Inwardly I smiled. "So what are you doing?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"Not really, but I'd really like to know," he pointed out. I only shrugged.  
  
"I'm gathering an ingredient that is a crucial substance in most healing potions; less generally, the more potent types." Glancing over my shoulder, I was quick enough to catch the smallest glimpse of mild surprise that had appeared on Draco's face. "Yes it's true, I do listen to Professor Snape; sometimes, anyway."  
  
I saw the small raise of his eyebrows as he shrugged. "Vital information, yes, but I wasn't about to doubt your knowledge on the matter."  
  
Not doubt my knowledge? Well, if I hadn't known any better, Draco could have just given me a compliment. At that moment I hated the discreetness that was formal language.  
  
"Well, I feel more confident now, don't I?" I remarked, mimicking his sarcastic 'court bred' drawl that he used so often. Taking the pen knife, I began to slowly scratch glistening dust from the pearl white horn of the unicorn. Powdered unicorn horn was usually substituted with bicorn horn in most potions, seeing how it was such a rare find; but mother only wanted the absolute best in her healing concoctions.  
  
As I watch the glistening powder fall from the horn, I held out the pouch to catch it. When it had filled to my desired amount, I pulled the pouch closed and blew the rest of the powder off the pen knife.  
  
"So, has it got a name?" Draco asked from behind me, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. I started a bit; I hadn't heard him come near. Still facing the mare, I answered him.  
  
"Yes, she has a name. It's Diana; named after the Greek goddess of the Hunt. My mother named her." Without thinking I turned around, running right into Draco's chest. "Sorry," I apologized lamely, skirting around him towards the gate. He only shrugged, his face remaining blank.  
  
"My fault," he said.  
  
Disregarding his reply, I hung the pen knife back on its peg on the post and indicated that Draco follow me. We left the stables, my intentions being set on a relaxing interval next to the stream. I would think that, after our brief time in the stables, Draco would want to head home. After all, he did say that he only came on an errand for his mother; did he really have any other purpose for staying?"  
  
I made my way to one of the cherry blossom trees that grew near the water's edge. Breathing deeply, I could smell the sweet fragrance that they gave off. These blossoms were a pink that I didn't mind, and they reminded me of when I was little.  
  
I sat down near the trunk of the closest tree, arranging my long and large skirt so that it fanned around me; a habit brought on from childhood. It was a nice cool day, so I removed my jumper and remained in only my shirt, letting the soft breeze skim over my arms. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the trunk. For a while I did not hear anything, giving me the thought that Draco had detoured on our path and went into the house. But contrary to my assumptions, his voice came lazily from next to me.  
  
"It's peaceful here; like in my rose garden."  
  
I opened my eyes and looked at him; I mean, really looked at him. He sat much as any other boy would: one leg was stretched out in front of him with the other one bent up so he could rest his elbow on his knee. He still wore his cloak, but he had rolled up his sleeves so he too could feel the light breeze on his skin. And, as always, his face was inexpressive; well, save for his eyes anyway.  
  
That's what I concentrated on, his eyes. They weren't looking into mine but off in space somewhere. In those steel eyes I could see opposing sides fighting for dominance. Contentment matched with restlessness; satisfaction matched with disappointment; serenity matched with turmoil. All these I could see in the silver orbs set into his face, and that was when I figured out why Draco was able to look so disconnected when he wanted to. With so much chaos and whirlwind of emotions inside of him, each one was balanced out by their counterpart, making it easy for him to dislodge all of them from his features and pull down the façade of boredom over an onlooker's eye.  
  
For a long time we sat there, the summer silence creating a sort of bubble around us. He spoke once more during that time and it made me laugh. The conversation following that was one that was comfortable and not forced; a conversation found only between good friends. It was almost as of we were starting over; almost as if the last ten hours, the last two days, the last eight years had all been forgotten and today was merely the day after we had met that cold winter's evening.  
  
"So you don't think Blaise is beautiful at all?" I asked, smiling as I fiddled with a blade of grass between my fingers. Our discussion had sidled its way to Slytherin House and somehow we had hit the topic on who was 'hot' or not. Honestly, I don't know how muggles can use such inaccurate wording. How can someone be 'hot'? They are either handsome or beautiful or pretty or gorgeous, not some description that could be put to better uses describing the temperature of tea.  
  
"She's gorgeous enough, I'll admit to that," Draco replied, waving his hand idly as if the compliment was petty and irrelevant. "But looks aren't the only thing that can make a person beautiful."  
  
I raised my eyebrows at him, impressed. "Oh really? Well, Draco, if I didn't know any better I'd say that was a very deep inquisition right there. But then again, I could also take it in the typical girl's sense of money, power and charm mixed with looks and begin swooning over you in complete idiocy."  
  
"Swooning? Over me?" he asked in false surprise.  
  
I nudged him with my elbow. "Oh come off it; you know darn well that you're the best looking boy in all of Slytherin House. What with your flawless blonde hair and alluringly pale skin, you're practically hailed as a god amongst Slytherins." We both laughed.  
  
"Well I couldn't well deny the title of god, now could I?" he replied; but I wasn't listening. I was looking thoughtfully at the sky, my brow furrowed and my finger tapping my chin.  
  
"Then again, it could just be the fact that you're not handsome at all but that everyone else in Slytherin looks as if they've descended from a troll line or two, making you undoubtedly better looking only by comparison." I smirked at him, glad to see a grin curl his lips and a bit surprised to know that that was what I had been aiming for.  
  
"I think I'd stick with the 'god amongst Slytherin' description, thanks," was his answer. I shrugged.  
  
"Suit yourself. But in truth, I know what you mean. Pardon if I'm leaning toward Gryffindor Lane, but beauty is in what the person is; who they are, how they act. How they look at the world and how they look as themselves. A person has to be beautiful inside and out." I gave a laugh that sounded cold and bitter to my ears. "No one is beautiful in Slytherin."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"You're beautiful," was Draco's reply.  
  
I looked up at him then, nothing but blank astonishment in reaction to his words. We stared at one another for awhile, the smile gone from his face to be replaced with the veil of nothing once more. But what caught me in my confused manner was the fact that there was no mockery or teasing in his words, but only sincerity.  
  
"Pansy!" came my mother's distressed voice, breaking the awkwardly comfortable silence. Both Draco and I looked across the stream to where my mother stood framed in the back door accompanied by, surprisingly, Narcissa Malfoy.  
  
"Mother?" I called back, rising from my seat, Draco following suit. At this, my mother was about to run towards me when Mrs. Malfoy yanked her back before he could go any farther. She began whispering something furiously in her ear, her grip on my mother's wrist very tight and her face radiating determined rage. I looked at Draco for some explanation, but he could do nothing but shake his head in vain.  
  
"Pansy," my mother called again, this time in a somewhat strained yet less distressed tone. "Come on inside sweetheart. Draco needs to get going." And with that she turned around and headed into the house, her head a bit low. Mrs. Malfoy followed her, though she shot her son a very stern look before she disappeared into the house. I looked back at him to his see his reaction, and the tightening of his jaw didn't do much to set me at ease.  
  
*Draco*  
  
The look that my mother gave me before she entered the house made my blood run cold and my heart stop. It was one that I had seen often, in times of crucial secrecy. Down to her closed fist, I knew what she was telling me with that glare: keep your mouth shut.  
  
I didn't know what she was trying to hide from Pansy, or what Mrs. Parkinson wanted so desperately to tell her daughter; but I did know that it wasn't some minor family problem, but a much bigger dilemma. But of the origin of the matter, I knew nothing of.  
  
When we arrived home in the evening, I received no further comfort.  
  
"What was all that about?" were my first words to my mother once we were back in our manor. I had followed her into the parlor, throwing my cloak over the back of an armchair. But my mother seemed in no mood to speak to me that night.  
  
"Go to your room Draco," she said to me, already on her way through the opposite door that would lead to my father's office.  
  
But, being the person that I was, I protested first. "No. What didn't you want Mrs. Parkinson to tell Pansy? Does it have to do with anything about--,"  
  
"I said go to your room," my mother repeated, pausing in the far doorway to look back at me. The fire in my eyes was my warning, yet the tension in her shoulders was my threat. I could either oblige to her wishes or get punished severely for disobeying an elder.  
  
With a last glance at my mother I left the parlor, heading for my room on the fourth floor, the wheels in my head turning and unknown suspicions growing greater.  
  
A/N: Yeah, I know, Draco's part was really short. But hey, there is a reason! In the next chapter there will be a change of pace, but bear with me here. It gets a little faster and more vigorous because something major happens. Well, yeah, that's it. Oh! And thank you to all my reviewers! Every last one of you guys are amazing; I only wish I had reviewers like you people on my 'Oracles of Prodigy' story. *cough* ahem *cough* 


	6. The Way To Unholy Silence

Chapter Six ~ The Way To Unholy Silence  
  
*Pansy*  
  
That night I slept terribly, tossing and turning for no apparent reason. I had a chaotic array of nightmares, but every time I woke up screaming from one, I would forget it. I wasn't sure why I was sleeping so horribly; usually it was from nerves or fear, but what was I to be nervous or afraid of?  
  
It wasn't until dawn broke that I began to feel the stirring of sleep, but I still could not lay my head down to rest. Thinking that if I kept myself busy all day, I'd surely be able to sleep well that night. I thought about it for a while and resolved to spend the day with my mother. After Draco had left abruptly yesterday, she had disappeared into her room and didn't come out all evening. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but all I got was a choked command for me to go to my room.  
  
Shaking off my mother's suspicious behavior, I hopped out of bed and headed for the shower.  
  
*Draco*  
  
I woke up very early the next morning, determined to find my mother and demand an answer out of her. But to meet with my mother in nothing but night clothes was simply out of the question. Since childhood, she always made it clear that neither her or my father would be an audience unless I was decent for a public eye. Needless to say that when I had nightmares when I was only a boy, I was left to deal with them myself.  
  
But I would be ready for her today. Just before the sun had broken through the night sky I was already showered and dressed in an ordinary ensemble. Once she noticed that I had disregarded the designer wear and had donned nothing but black trousers and a shirt, she would know I was serious. But my mother was never available until eight o'clock, so I was forced to wait in my room until the time arrived. Not a second past the chiming bell, I raced down the main staircase and into the study, positive that I'd find her sitting at the desk with piles of paperwork in front of her and a quill poised at the ready. Without my father around, my mother had become head of the business needs in no time flat.  
  
Not even remembering the courtesy to ask if she had time for me, I barged into the room and slammed the door behind me, anger rising in my cheeks. Startled, my mother looked up from what she was doing and swiftly removed her reading spectacles.  
  
"Draco Meleagrant Malfoy, I expect some sort of explanation for this unseemly behavior so early in the morning!" she cried out, throwing down her quill as well. I groaned audibly, hating my Arthurian middle name in agony. My parents had already named me Draco; had they need to embarrass me more with a middle name like Meleagrant?  
  
"Yes, I do in fact have an explanation for my intrusion, mother," I replied, stressing her title just far enough to make it sound mocking. "What was all that about yesterday with Mrs. Parkinson?"  
  
To my surprise, my mother only leaned back casually in her chair and stared at me lazily through lidded eyes. She looked so much like my father then that I was almost caught off guard when she spoke gently to me and not with a harsh command as he would have. "What are you talking about, my son?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about," I said calmly. "Mrs. Parkinson wanted to tell her daughter something and Pansy and I both saw you deliberately stop her from saying anything. What are you two hiding?"  
  
My mother gave a laugh then; a cold, brittle laugh that cut my flesh where it lay exposed. "My clever little boy, I would have thought you knew that it is not 'two' who know something, but much, much more."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She locked eyes with me. "I mean that when the Dark Lord commands his Death Eaters to do something they very well must do it for their safety and the safety of their family. You know this, as your father has always been a faithful supporter and has yet to falter under our Master's gaze."  
  
Losing patience with her discreetness, I walked towards her until I was directly in front of the desk and then leaned forward, bewildered by my sudden aggressive acts towards a mother I had never disobeyed before. "Stop beating around the bush, my mother, and tell what all of this has to do with our dear Master?" I asked, a slice of ridicule hovering over every word I said. In challenge to my disrespectful ways, my mother stood up from her seat and looked down at me with distant eyes.  
  
"It has everything to do with our Master, Draco. Are you aware that, in an act of great importance, it is a lethal sin to the Dark Lord to waver even the slightest ounce? Take, for example, the little episode taken place in the Department of Mysteries this year."  
  
My throat went dry by the sheer tone of her voice.  
  
"That event was crucial to everything our Lord had been planning since his rise last year, and if anything were to go wrong during the mission, everything we had worked for would have gone up in smoke. Well, needless to say that everything did go up in smoke, though it was that damn Harry Potter's fault, again.  
  
"But are you also aware that one Death Eater threatened the failure of that mission before Dumbledore's stupid Order came into the picture? And are you aware that the consequences for such a threat are the testing of loyalties?" The color drained from my face, and she knew the pieces were fitting together in my head. "Yes, Draco; you are aware of the testing. To test a Death Eater is to ask him to put what he cares for the most into jeopardy. Put his most prized possession into jeopardy for the Dark Lord and then you're in the clear once more."  
  
I gripped the desk's edge hard, hoping that it would sustain my weight if my knees gave out by the anger and horror searing through my veins.  
  
"And do you know what that Death Eater's name is, dear Draco?" she asked me, turning away to face the window behind her. Without looking up, I could still see, almost feel, the terrifying grin spreading across her face. "Parkinson."  
  
*Pansy*  
  
That morning I spent a long time in the shower, trying to reawaken my entire body with the scalding streamline. As I cleansed myself, I had the oddest feeling that something was terribly wrong. It was as if my troubled night and horrid morning were mere introductions to an even worse presentation soon to come. But it couldn't be; I was safe in my own home with no one inside save for my mother and the many servants who were more than faithful to the entire Parkinson line. But as hard as I tried to rid myself of it, the haunted feeling remained with me.  
  
Now, with my fears of absolutely no origin continually mounting, I hurried out of the shower and changed quickly, throwing my robe over my simple clothes to keep me warm from the sudden cold in our house. I had just sat down to my vanity to begin brushing my hair when a small weight knocked against my knee from one of the many pockets of my robe. Reaching in to find out why it was freezing cold, I withdrew the small, purple vial encrusted with the Parkinson crest.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"You're enjoying this," I said quietly, trying hard to contain the rage slowly building up inside of me. My mother said nothing for a while, deciding to keep her face away from mine and to continue staring out the window. Once again, it had begun to rain. "You're enjoying this like some sick, deranged murderer."  
  
"I am not the murderer here, Draco," she began, but I cut her off abruptly.  
  
"You're as good as one by letting Him hurt them! I just--.I don't understand how you can stand here and let all this happen without lifting a finger to at least help. I'm not asking you to go against your 'master', but I'm also not asking you to just stand to the side and let their lives fall at risk."  
  
There was a silence then, one in which I looked up and could see my mother's face reflected in the glass of the window. She was not smiling anymore.  
  
"I don't enjoy it," she said, crossing her arms against the sudden chill in the air. "You know that I love that family as much as you do, but I will not stand in the way of the Dark Lord no matter what the consequences. It is his decisions that control our lives, not our own."  
  
I closed my eyes in disgust, for a moment hating the side I had been born into. But what could I do against the most powerful Dark Wizard alive?  
  
"So what now, mother?" I asked, straightening up to stare at the back of her head. "What is the Dark Lord going to do to Mrs. Parkinson?"  
  
But the answer she gave was the last thing I thought I'd ever hear at that moment. She laughed. Not the sneering laugh she had used earlier, but one far worse by comparison. It was one that was basically telling me that I was in for a very nasty surprise.  
  
"Do you actually think that our master would risk the life of a valuable supporter just to test the loyalties of another? Do you think he would jeopardize the life of an obedient follower as punishment to a coward? Think about it, Draco. Our dear Zhyerra has done nothing but the Dark Lord's wishes since she was ordained a Death Eater and her alliances are much too great to put her life at stake. And though Parkinson loves his wife dearly, she's still second in line to another."  
  
I watched her then, with wide and horror-struck eyes, as she turned around and faced me.  
  
"Now listen carefully, son. Why would Lord Voldemort, soon to be Supreme Ruler of the magical realm, aim for the more valuable secondhand ruby when he could just as easily strike down the more expendable, priceless diamond? Who do you think is Parkinson's most prized possession, the apple of his eye and his favorite little girl?"  
  
And it took everything I could find within me to answer her back, my voice barely above a whisper.  
  
"Pansy."  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I sat for a while, setting the vial down on my vanity and staring at it. It was an extraordinary present; that was for sure. My father had never given me as much as a hairpin in the category of girl things, and he hated when I wore perfumes of any sort. Fragrances of all kinds aggravated him, so he usually denied my request for the many exotic potions and concoctions I found in stores. So why the sudden turn of events with this imported potion from India?  
  
That was when I received the sudden feeling of woe upon me once more, and for a second it hovered around the vial. But what nonsense that would be! My father loved me, against all assumptions from other families. To him, I was the closest thing that could get in the way of my father's devotion to the Dark Lord; and at times it could be seen as a grand thing or else a very unpleasant thing.  
  
Telling myself that I was getting worked up about nothing, I grabbed the vial back up and yanked the gold stopper free.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"It is called many things," my mother explained, seating herself once more in her chair behind the desk. "But we know it as the Lotus. The origin is either Greek or Roman, but the gypsies stole the formula long ago and have since been the makers of it to this very day."  
  
"What does it do?" I asked through clenched teeth, holding myself back long enough to hear the dreaded fate of the one person I had ever learned to care about.  
  
"Exactly what its name stands for, though the outcome has become much more painful than before. In myth, as the Lotus flower was the magic for eternal sleep, so is the poison sent from India into the hands of our dear Pansy Parkinson."  
  
She looked straight at me, nothing in her eyes to reveal any emotion set on the current situation. I figured that we were two very different people then. The reason I looked impassive was because I could feel too greatly and was plagued with emotions. The reason my mother looked impassive was because she had learned to feel nothing and was empty inside.  
  
"One sniff and the fragrance takes to work on the entire body. She will begin to feel weak and lost, her vision clouding over and body not responding to what she commands it to do. Soon the agony that her body is being ripped to shreds will take over, and her heart will find it difficult to continue beating. Even sooner, the agony will be too great, and she will fall into an unholy slumber. It is not death; no, not at all. It can be cured, yes; but only if it is attended to right away. That is the jeopardy the Dark Lord will put dear Pansy into: will someone discover her in time to save her, or will she die alone and cold by a sleep that could last ages? The hardest test, I must say, for any parent to put their child through. I couldn't imagine the decision I'd make if it were you, my son."  
  
And by the emotionless look in her dead eyes, I knew there would never be a hesitation for her to give me the Lotus had she need to prove herself to Voldemort.  
  
"Well then," I started, backing out of the room, my eyes slitted in fury. "I guess I'll just have to do something about this, won't I?"  
  
But it seemed my mother hadn't anticipated this, for she looked surprised by my sudden need to leave.  
  
"Draco, where are you going? Child, I demand that you stay here at once!"  
  
"Don't wait up for me tonight," were my last words to her before I sprinted out of there and towards my room where the Portkey to Parkinson Manor sat waiting on my dresser.  
  
"Draco!" my mother called again, her voice slowly dying as I moved farther and farther away from the study. "Draco, I do not want my son interfering with this. Come back here this instant!"  
  
But I heard nothing more from her as there was only one thing filling my mind:  
  
*Pansy*  
  
The moment I pulled the stopper free a ghastly fragrance was released from the vial. It was the smell of fresh apple blossoms, but different somehow. The smell was mussed by another thicker substance, one that clouded my head and filled my lungs with fog.  
  
As quickly as I could, I shoved the top back into the vial, setting it down on my vanity once more. The fragrance was making me extremely dizzy, and I wondered for a moment if I had been poisoned. But no, my father would never do that to me! Never.  
  
I decided some fresh air would do me good, so I stood up from my vanity and headed towards the window; but the window was rapidly becoming much to far for me. My eyes weren't working right, and all I could see were blurs around me. Panicking, I started to call out for one of the servants, but my body was growing weak. I had changed paths from the window to my door, desperate for human contact in anyway. But I was lost in my room; in a room that suddenly expanded to the entire world plunged into darkness. I couldn't see and I couldn't move, and all the while, as I struggled to find where I was, I wondered in hopelessness if my father had meant for this to happen or not.  
  
*Draco*  
  
The stupid Portkey wouldn't work fast enough. The moment I burst into my room I snatched the silver fang off my dresser and was soon on my way. The arctic wind rushing past me as I traveled seemed to taunt me with my dilemma, taking joy in the blood rushing in my ears as it whipped by singing 'too late' as it passed.  
  
What felt like years later, I stopped in the entrance hall of Parkinson Manor, finding it empty of any of the servants. Odd, they usually were up and about at this time of day. Sure they made themselves scarce, but there wasn't a sound in the grand mansion, and it didn't put my ill thoughts to rest.  
  
Abandoning the mystery of the household help, I darted up the grand staircase towards Pansy's room on the top floor, hoping against hope that I hadn't in fact come too late.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
In and out, in and out; that was the pattern of my vision. One moment I'd find myself looking directly at my wooden door and the next I'd be thrown head first into darkness. I was dragging myself against the cold stone floor, the need to stay conscience long enough to find someone outstripping the dead weight of slumber poisoning every inch of me.  
  
What was going on? What was happening?  
  
But just as I was about to give up and give into my sudden yearnings for sleep, I felt my hands close around the cool metal of the door handle. I was about to pull all the strength I had left into pushing the door open, but was stopped immediately from doing so.  
  
Cruel and undeniable pain shot through my entire body, whipping its way up my spine and through my skull. I let out a terrified cry then, though I was almost certain no one would hear it. It felt as though someone and taken a sword and was slashing me from the inside with no mercy behind every swing.  
  
I had never felt true pain before but had always sneered at others for wincing the slightest bit when they were hurt in anyway. A punishment towards me sent unknown for all the brutal acts of derision I had inflicted upon others.  
  
For a moment the pain dulled slightly, just enough to throw my weight against the door and feel it swing open under my hands. Also to my sheer relief, I found that I could just barely stand, but that my vision was slowing down between in and out but had alternated to slowly dying out on me. Taking in breath in huge gasps, I staggered my way to the top of the main staircase, leaning heavily on the rail post and looking around wildly. No one. No one was around to hear me cry, to help me if I fell.to help me if I died.  
  
But wait, what was that coming up the stairs? It was something dark yet light, a person perhaps or maybe just my imagination. My vision was tunneling and I could feel a warm encasement surround me. The someone called out my name, though they sounded far and distant now.  
  
Then there was another even worse jolt of pain, and I was aware of my heart beating in my chest. It hurt to hear it beat, and with every sound it made I could feel a swift spasm of pain on my entire body. I let go of the rail then, and fell forward down the staircase into a complete and excruciating darkness.  
  
*Draco*  
  
I heard her before I saw her. A high-pitched cry of suffering filled the empty manor and rang hard in my ears. I pressed upward, trying to ignore the words my mother had told me not two minutes ago.  
  
"Will someone discover her in time to save her, or will she die alone and cold by a sleep that could last ages?"  
  
No, I would find her in time and I would save her. To die cold and alone would be a fate she never would know. But was I already too late?  
  
Then I saw her as I looked far up into the staircase. She was leaning heavily against the stair post, her robe draping over her shoulders and her hair hanging limply down her back. Even from this distance I could see that her eyes were unfocused, as if she was blind to everything, and she was a nasty pasty color. She was struggling for breath, her low gasps sounding pained and forced. Her entire body was shivering rapidly, and the grip she held on the post was loosening.  
  
"Pansy," I called out, bounding up the stairs two by two now. For a moment I thought she heard me, but was greatly disappointed when she let out another agonizing cry, her body seizing up and her grip lost on the post now.  
  
I reached her just in time. She fell silently forward as I came to meet her, catching her in my arms before she hit the ground. To my rising anger I could easily lift her, as her weight was hastily declining at that very moment. I carried her back onto level ground, calling out for anyone as I did so.  
  
To no big surprise, no one came.  
  
I hurried her to her room, laying her back onto the bed and praying against hope that I wasn't too late. But no, I couldn't be; she was still breathing quickly. If her breath thinned out to slow-and-steady I would know that I had lost her.  
  
"Pansy," I said loudly to her, leaning over her deathly light frame. "I know you can hear me. Listen to me and listen to me carefully: stay alive. I don't give a damn on how you do it, but just stay alive."  
  
I left her side then, snatching the purple vial off her vanity. I threw open the closest window and tossed it out, whipping out my wand and aiming a very well spent Reducto Curse at it as it flew into the air. The tiny bottle burst into thousands of glass shards. But as I heard the entrance door open downstairs, the shards transformed into the most beautiful array of white Lotus petals; and as I tore from Pansy's lifeless side to find Mrs. Parkinson returning, they fell to the earth one by one, each one shriveling into nothing but dark, black ash. 


	7. The Way You Hold Me

"This is one of the miracles of love: It gives.a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted." ~ C.S. Lewis  
  
Chapter Seven ~ The Way You Hold Me *Draco*  
  
The Healers said that muggles called it a coma, though they knew nothing about it save for the fact that the victim remained unconscious for a very, very long time. But wizard Healers knew better than simple-minded muggles.  
  
Pansy was lost; lost somewhere in her own mind, forced there by the potion and trapped there by the magic. She was stuck, dormant, inside herself, the Lotus flower reaching so far with its deathly sleep that it locked her within her own self.  
  
But one thing helped me cope with her divine sleep: she was still alive.  
  
Mrs. Parkinson had arrived just in time. I met her in the Entrance hall and explained everything within a matter of seconds. Through her distress and sadness, she was able to fetch one of her powdered unicorn horn potions and hold Pansy awake long enough to call someone from St. Mungo's.  
  
She had thought Pansy had gotten rid of the potion. When she received the letter from her husband he was so prudent with his punishment to poison his own daughter that Mrs. Parkinson hadn't the slightest clue what was going. When Narcissa, my mother, cleared it up for her the next day, she was determined to warn Pansy and throw out the Indian Lotus. But my mother convinced her to keep her hysteria to herself or else the Dark Lord would be very disappointed; and she didn't want the Dark Lord disappointed. So the secret was safe for another day.  
  
The next morning however, she had intended to rid her daughter of the vial while she was showering, but hadn't been able to find it anywhere in her room. We wouldn't figure out until later that it was with Pansy while she was in the shower, sitting silently in her robe behind the locked bathroom door. Mrs. Parkinson had assumed that her daughter had gotten rid of it herself, so she thought the risk was over. But despite the risk, she was infuriated with the attempt.  
  
So while Pansy spent a long morning in the shower, her mother had collected her traveling cloak and had taken a visit to Azkaban fortress, taking quite a few servants with her. It was vital for a visitor to have no less than ten guards with them, as the wizard prison was no longer under dementor protection. To the great anguish of Mrs. Parkinson, she had absent-mindedly taken all thirteen house servants with her and had only left the fifteen that did their morning chores outdoors.  
  
Her visit had ended in vain though, as Mr. Parkinson refused to even look at her and stayed curled away at the back of his cell. He knew why she had come, and he couldn't face the rage of his wife while he was still wallowing in the shame of what he had done to his daughter. But to my great relief, it had cut her visit short and there hence brought her home in time to save Pansy's life.  
  
And here she was, a week later, lying motionless in her bed, her face unnervingly serene. She had not improved in seven days but, in my opinion, had only gone farther and farther from me and into her mind. For seven days the live-in Healer who was attending to her had been giving her potions and spells silently every morning and evening; and for seven days she would leave the room without any word of hope that Pansy would awaken soon. For seven days the medical attention only did so much as to keep her alive so she wouldn't slip into the oblivious state of death, but for seven days Pansy was as good as dead, not moving and not waking.  
  
And for seven days, I never left her side.  
  
I sat in the armchair next to her bed, watching over her day and night. Mrs. Parkinson didn't mind; in fact, she was glad that I remained beside her even through these tough times. She would have done it herself, but she couldn't look at her daughter without breaking down and crying.  
  
So I had taken the duty of watching her inert form; sleeping there, eating there, spending every waking minute there. The only time I left was when I went to the bathroom to shower amongst other things. Otherwise I was always at her side; doing nothing to help but watch her.  
  
Watch her and talk to her.  
  
I told her what it was like outside, how the weather was and if the sun was shining that day. I told her how her mother was doing, what she had for dinner that night and what she wore every morning. I told her how I sat and watched her all day, wishing she'd open her eyes and then falling quiet when she never did. But more importantly, I told her I was sorry.  
  
I told her I was sorry for ignoring her for eight years, that I was sorry for not paying her attention and that I was sorry I didn't treat her more like a friend. I told her I was sorry for using her on the train, and that I was sorry I kissed her in the parlor the same night. I told her I was sorry for making her hate me and that I didn't mean to disregard her feelings for me in the years before. I told her I was sorry I didn't tell her my favorite rose was a black rose and that when she woke up I'd take her back to the garden and show her where they grew next to the pond. I told her I was sorry I didn't come sooner, or else she would be awake right now and none of this would have happened. And then I'd close my eyes, and without even saying the words out loud I'd imagine myself telling her that I was falling in love with her, because no one could break my heart like she was doing right now and mend it back together just by opening her eyes.  
  
For seven days I did this, and for seven days she listened to me through dead slumber. Then on the eighth day, I left her side.  
  
It was very early in the morning; so early that the sky was still completely black with the night's shadow. I had already showered and dressed, sitting next to her bed in my regular shirt and trousers. I stared at her in the moonlight, watched as the pale beams illuminated her face and made her look almost alive for a second. For a moment my heart lifted; I was convinced she would wake up soon, that her eyes would flutter open and she'd look at me and smile. But when I found she wouldn't, my heart fell to the ground with a deafening silence as it shattered into nothing. She wasn't coming back for a long time. She couldn't hear me and she didn't know I was there; all she knew was that she was at peace in a magical sleep, and it would be much later till she woke again.  
  
At that moment I remembered a story my nanny read to me when I was four. It was about a girl who was put under a magical spell that made her sleep until her prince came and kissed the sleep from her. But I knew a kiss would do nothing for Pansy, because she wouldn't feel it and she wouldn't know it. But as her prince, I could do something better.  
  
Before I left, I stood at the foot of her bed, staring at her long enough to etch her figure in my mind. I was doing this for her, though I wished for no reward in return. But by my sheer courage, I was going to face the man I ever truly feared: my father.  
  
I took the Knight Bus to the Ministry of Magic, the only way to get to Azkaban Prison. As I headed for the right fireplace, many of the employees stared at me, recognizing me right away as Lucius Malfoy's son; and it wasn't from just the family resemblance. I made sure to wear the family crest on my traveling cloak, flaunting our family's name and history as I stalked through the hall. To my great annoyance, many of the wizards and witches glared coldly at me; to my great contentment, every witch and wizard stayed out of my way.  
  
As I reached the grate that was specifically assigned to Azkaban, I met up with a very large and very nasty looking guard. He glared down at me as I came closer, tapping his wand in his hand.  
  
"Going to visit someone, I presume?" he asked me, attempting and failing to sound intelligent in any way. But in any case, I blamed my reaction on my nerves and continuous anger.  
  
"Not at all, sir," I replied monotonously. "I'm a national felon sentenced to life in prison and I decided to take this route because I thought the scenery was better."  
  
It took the extremely dumb guard a long time before he figured out I was lying; time that I could have put to better use getting to where I desperately needed to go. But after he discovered that, low and behold, I wasn't really a felon, he stopped me from entering the grate still.  
  
"Maybe you haven't heard boy, but you'll require a parent guardian and no less than ten guards; Ministry policy."  
  
I stared blankly at the man, standing up straighter so he could get a good view of the Malfoy crest embroidered on my cloak. His eyes widened in silent surprise; the exact reaction I had counted on. "A Malfoy needs no guardians of any sort," I answered. That was the ticket.  
  
The guard stepped aside quietly, handing me the Floo Powder as he did so. I took it without a word and threw it into the fireplace, trying to hold on to my courage and fury. As the green flames leapt up around me I closed my eyes, focusing completely on Pansy's silent form still laying dormant back at the manor. The trip ended much too soon; funny how that always happens when your destination is an unpleasant one.  
  
I landed lightly on the rocky shore, but opened my eyes only when the sounds of air and sea rushed past my ears.  
  
There it sat before me, a menacing shadow draped with a heaven smeared with blackness. A curtain of rain separated us, though the cold pierced through me and drew me forward. The crumbling stone walls, the dead, withering plant life and the sense of total isolation leapt out at me from all sides, but by some miracle, I pressed on. The water soaked through my clothing, but I took no heed to it. If I had to confess it, I was much too frightened.  
  
"Visitation on what grounds?" the sentry at the huge, barred doors asked. The voice from the drawn hood was soft and light, so I guessed it was a woman hidden in the darkness of the drawn hood.  
  
"By the look of things, I'd say wet grounds," I replied, shrugging. The woman lifted her head a bit, and I was able to see her blue eyes by the one light hanging over the entrance way.  
  
"Where are your escorts?" she asked. I held her gaze for a moment.  
  
"Didn't bring any," I replied lazily, though my insides churned in apprehension.  
  
She replied, in a low, lazed voice, "You are aware that they are required for your own safety?"  
  
"I am aware."  
  
She looked down at me, impressed. Then I saw as her eyes fell onto the crest and realization dawn on her face. "Follow me," she said, and opened the gate with numerous taps of her wand.  
  
I followed her through the courtyard, the darkness much too thick to see anything save for a void of gloom. Receiving an uneasy feeling from the surrounding darkness, I assumed the weather mimicked how joyous the prison could be.  
  
After opening yet another heavy door, the sentry led me down a damp, dingy hall lined with barred cells. The lights in each one had been put out, though the residents didn't seem at all at rest. Dull cries and unsystematic screams could be heard through the solid bars, each one sounding more agonizing than the last. My guide must have noticed the slightly horrified look on my face, for she said, "I know it's surprising, but after a few days, you get used to this kind of thing. It's the dementors. They may be gone, but anything as horrid as them always leave their mark."  
  
I couldn't find words in response to that.  
  
"So, who are you visiting? All I know is that it's one of the convicted Death Eaters."  
  
"Didn't you already know? Isn't that why you let me in?" I asked as we rounded a corner and headed down yet another hallway lined with cells.  
  
The woman shook her head. "I didn't see which line you belonged to, but I could tell from the design of the crest that you descended from a long line of purebloods; and the only strict purebloods in here are Death Eaters."  
  
"Draco Meleagrant Malfoy, only son and heir to Lucius Galahad Malfoy," I answered, settling for the formalities for once in my life. The woman glanced back at me for a moment, but then kept walking. If it hadn't been for her hood, I could have sworn there would be a very frightened and surprised look on her face.  
  
"Malfoy, huh?" she asked, nodding to two other cloaked and hooded wizards patrolling the halls. "By the way, the Arthurian names are a nice touch."  
  
"Thanks," I replied rather dully.  
  
The sentry stopped at another barred entrance, but then tapped her wand against it and it disappeared abruptly. She waved to me to follow her down the narrow passageway. The lump in my throat grew slightly bigger.  
  
"So Galahad; wasn't that the pagan name for King Arthur's most trusted and closest knight?" she interrogated.  
  
I stared fixedly at the flooring. "Yes," I replied. She looked back at me again.  
  
"You don't sound too happy about it. Don't you like that name?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because Galahad was a traitor," I told her, and then resolved to my silence once more. She must have got the hint, because she didn't say another word until we arrived to the area where my father was kept.  
  
They called it the Hole, though more descriptive names could have been given to it at any time. It was a row of cells, all protected with seven high security spells. Each one, however, did not have iron bars guarding its entrance. Instead, each held a solid, obsidian door with nothing but a small sliding panel set into the middle of the dark stone.  
  
"It's brutal punishment," the woman told me, answering my unasked question. "They receive no light whatsoever. Day and night, rain or shine, they are plunged into an eternal darkness. We lock them with nothing but their crimes until they slowly go insane."  
  
I stopped in my tracks, much too sick to continue on. I knew my father had done something terrible, breaking into the Department of Mysteries; but to know that he was thrown into a sentence that could destroy everything that was him was nauseating. The sentry noticed my absence and returned to my side.  
  
"Don't think like that, Malfoy; you've got nothing to worry about."  
  
I looked up at her, my face impassive once more but my mind reeling. "Why would you say that?"  
  
"Because," she answered, walking up to the last black door and sliding away the small opening. "Your father is Lucius Galahad Malfoy, the only Death Eater unaffected in any way." I stared at her blankly. "Come and see for yourself," she told me, and stepped away as I came forward to look through the small opening.  
  
The small square in the door gave little light, but it was enough to see what I needed to see. The same blonde hair, the sharp, pale face and those eyes-those eyes that were lightest black and darkest white-were unmistakable.  
  
"Father," I said monotonously from the door. He kept his face in profile, not looking me full on.  
  
"Well, if it isn't my own flesh and blood come to visit me," he replied in the usual deep, sultry voice. "As you already know, I was expecting you."  
  
"I'll leave you two to this," the sentry told me, and headed off down the hall. "I'll be in the passage of you need me."  
  
"Making alliances with Ministry officials, I see," my father said quietly as the woman walked away. "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer; I am impressed, Draco."  
  
As my eyes adjusted slightly, I could make out the worn, simple bed my father was sitting on, the porcelain sink and the chamber pot tucked under his bed. But as dingy as these things appeared to be, my father looked out of place. He was still unbelievably clean with his hair combed thoroughly down his back and his prison robes looking less miserable than the other convicts. Leave it to my father to remain cunning even through times such as these.  
  
"Why did you poison Pansy?" I demanded, not even offering the civility of introduction. For a moment my father said nothing, just stared at the wall. But then he stood up from his bed and disappeared into the surrounding darkness. I couldn't see where he had gone and for a moment I thought he had disregarded me once more. But then I was caught by surprise when he appeared not two inches away from the small square of light, his cold eyes the only thing I could see.  
  
"If I do recall, Draco, Pansy is not my child and I was not the one who endangered the mission." Not once did he blink, and I could tell he was smirking behind the closed door, thinking himself clever and his son oblivious. "So how on earth did you receive the idea that I had poisoned Pansy in the first place?"  
  
My patience had been tried, test-driven and bought, and I had nothing left of it to give my father save for my full park of impatience. "Lay off the bullsh*t, father, and tell me the truth," I snapped, my hands balled into fists at my side. "I know for a fact that, no matter how badly the Dark Lord threatened Mr. Parkinson, he would never put his daughter's life at such risks. I also know for a fact that when you write, because you're left-handed, sometimes you drag your hand so the ink smears on the parchment."  
  
The confused look in my father's eyes was satisfying. He moved away from the panel then, but I heard a tedious thud as he leaned against the heavy door. "While your language disgusts me and your attitude repulses me, I can't help to wonder what your insufferable jabber is leaning towards."  
  
"I asked Mrs. Parkinson if I could read the letter her husband sent her along with the Indian Lotus. Mr. Parkinson is right-handed, father; yet the entire letter was lightly smeared, as if the writer was very weak from lack of food or light. It was you who sent the letter and vial because Mr. Parkinson flat refused. The Dark Lord has nothing to do with this, he doesn't even know about Mr. Parkinson backing down from the mission, and how could he? When was there a time you could have told him, father? While you were being captured by the Order or in the past weeks that you've been locked away in a high security prison?!"  
  
I was screaming by that time, causing an uproar in the neighboring cells; but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but one person, and she was lost somewhere that I couldn't follow her to.  
  
"Well," my father whispered behind the door. "I didn't think anyone would figure that much out. More to the point, I'm impressed it was you, Draco. I never put you against such clever standards."  
  
Depend on my father to burn my ego. "So it *was* you," I stated, breathing deeply. "You tried to take matters into your own hands and command the testing instead of the Dark Lord."  
  
His eyes appeared then, and to add to my irritation they were detached, glazed and overall uninterested. "I thought you were clever, Draco, because if you were you would know to keep your voice discreet."  
  
"Tell me the antidote."  
  
He leaned away then, staring down at me through the darkness of his cell. The quiet in his eyes matched the silence of his words. "Do senses deceive me or have you learned to care for Miss Parkinson?"  
  
Sadly for him, I was in no mood to chat any longer. "Tell me the antidote now," I said, with more of a threat than I intended.  
  
"There is none," he responded in a cold drawl, giving the notion that what he was about to say would be a sick enjoyment for himself.  
  
"I said cut the sh*t. Tell me the antidote now or--,"  
  
"Or what?!" my father suddenly bellowed, charging for the door. His eyes were practically jumping at me through the obsidian door, filled with rage and an insane malice. Against my will, I stepped back in fear, my jaw set and my heart pounding. "What will you do, Draco? What if I wasn't lying and there was no antidote? Because in truth, there isn't, never was and never will be a cure to Lotus. She's lost, that's what it feels like, doesn't it? As though she's trapped somewhere that you can't reach her?!"  
  
The Ministry officials were coming toward us, the woman along with two other hooded guards. It seemed my father was creating quite a raucous, and Azkaban would not settle for it.  
  
"How do I get her back?" I yelled back, too scared and too angry to speak otherwise. But contrary to my cries, my father lowered his voice dangerously; a way I was much too familiar with.  
  
"You can't."  
  
"Come on Draco, let's get you out of here," a voice said behind me, accompanied with two delicate hands placed on my shoulders. I looked up and saw the woman sentry standing there, moving me away from the door. The other two officials were busy opening the door and restraining my father. But I could see no more for I was being pushed down the narrow passage.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to experience that; this is no place for a boy to find his father." She sounded remorseful, as if my father's behavior were her fault. But somehow I accepted her sympathy in vain.  
  
"How do you know I'm not like him? I am a Malfoy as well; and we know our reputation," I shot back, moving forward out of her reach. I expected her to fall silent, struck dumb by my rudeness. But instead, she took it without question.  
  
"You're not your father. You are your own person, and Malfoy is only your name, not who you are."  
  
I could find nothing in reply.  
  
In silence, she led me to the ward's office. Without thinking I took the Floo Powder from her and in no time was back at Parkinson Manor standing wet and dirty in their parlor. I made my way back to Pansy's room, my world nothing but a haze. As I entered her room I didn't bother to turn on the lights; I couldn't look at her.  
  
I went silently to her bathroom and closed the door, locking it automatically. I intended on staying in that shower for as long as I could, drowning myself in the scalding hot water. But there was something pulling me back, pulling out. I dried and dressed, the tugging feeling still nagging at me. When I opened the door again I found the source of it.  
  
She still laid there, her hands cold as ice on the covers and her eyes shut against the world. But regardless to all this, it was her pulling me back. So, I went back. I walked to her side and sat back down in the armchair, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees and hanging my head, tired and worn.  
  
Seven days ago I had read that letter, and for seven days I sat here trying figure out what had happened. Not until the seventh day did I realize it was my father's fault, and it wasn't until the eighth day did I do something about it. And now.now there was nothing I could do.  
  
I looked back up to her. She looked peaceful, as though she were in a better place than here with me. I watched her for a long while, the moon our only source of light once more. But tonight would be different than the previous ones. Tonight I wouldn't talk to her like I usually did; what difference would it make?  
  
Slowly and silently I crawled into bed with her, pulling the covers over both of us. I lay next to her and wrapped her in my arms, slightly amazed by how warm she felt as opposed to her frozen state. Gently I laid her head against my shoulder and buried my face in her hair. The Healer washed her every day, and she smelled like the old Pansy now, sweet and refreshed.almost like the roses she adored so much. I fell asleep then, cradling this dead weight in my arms. And before I drifted off into unconsciousness, I remember saying three, powerful words to her.  
  
"I love you."  
  
A/N: I KNOW!!! I KNOW WHAT I HAVE DONE WRONG, SO DON"T SHOOT ME! I used a swear word, this I am aware of. audience gasp But I wanted to stay within Draco's character and he's not exactly Mr. Goody-Two Shoes like I am! =) But notice that I actually didn't use the word but bleeped it out, so ha! You can hold nothing against me because Draco would have just sounded like a wimp if he didn't let his rage take over once in a while.  
  
And for all those with an education, did you catch my enlightening moments in there? Galahad, otherwise know as Lancelot or Lancelet, traitor to the king by ensuing in an affair with Queen Guinevere? Or maybe you noticed that the section Lucius is kept in is called the Hole, similar to the isolation cells in Alcatraz? Did you catch those??? If you did, kudos to you guys! If you did not, sign offline right now and read a book. Just kidding.  
  
Otherwise, thanks to all my reviewers, especially amazon-princezz. Your review was very in depth and quite a good kick on my ego-booster. Thank you so much!  
  
Besides me bad words, (pardon my French, Breezy), I hope you guys like this chapter. Read and review please, as always. God bless and good night! 


	8. The Way I Come Running

"Love conquers all." ~ Virgil  
  
Chapter Eight ~ The Way I Come Running  
  
*Draco*  
  
"I am afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that Miss Parkinson here is dying," the Healer told me three days later.  
  
I was sitting in the armchair next to Pansy's bed once more, watching as I had done for the last ten days and focusing every last bit of magic inside of me for her to open her eyes. It was the eleventh day of her coma, and the Healer had come in that morning to cast her daily healing spells and pour her daily healing potions. But she had stopped before she performed the last spell and simply left the room. I didn't think much of it; in fact, I was glad she had left early. I liked it better when it was just Pansy and my self.  
  
But now she had come back, in the first beginnings of evening, to tell me the one thing I never wanted to hear. It seemed she had already told Mrs. Parkinson, and Mrs. Parkinson asked her to tell me. She would have done it herself, but I imagine she is in the privacy of her own room now, crying a plague on the world for doing this to her only daughter and child.  
  
As for me, I was in complete and utter denial.  
  
"She can't be dying," I said firmly, still staring down at her still body. I was slouched in the chair, my elbows set onto the armrests and my hands folded in front of me. For a moment the Healer didn't say anything, but then she found her courage and explained it to me.  
  
"At the moment she is physically stable; her body has no fatal injuries or mortal wounds. But I'm afraid her mind has been damaged far beyond our reaches. Indian Lotus isn't a poison to be taken lightly, Mr. Malfoy. As you are probably aware of, it was the Sleep of Death in Greek mythology. It has not changed since ancient times, only the fact that it is much more painful now. What has happened to Miss Parkinson is that she is trapped so far into herself that it would take a miracle for her to get out and awaken. And because she is confined so far away, her body will start to lose itself in the sleep too, until one day she will just shut down entirely, having died no stranger than in a peaceful sleep. I've tried pulling her back to the surface, but there just isn't magic strong enough for that. She is dying, Mr. Malfoy; and in a few days time, she will be gone."  
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This woman was talking absolute nonsense to me. Pansy wasn't dying; she couldn't be dying.  
  
"But we saved her," I replied in my same, quiet and firm tone. "I reached her in time."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy; in time to save her physical body, but there was no time for you to save her mind. As I have said previously, she-,"  
  
"I don't need you and your endless jabber, wench," I cried out, finally looking at her with rage and hate; not for her, but for the situation. "She can't be dying and if she is, there must be a cure. Every malady has a cure!"  
  
The Healer shrank away from me, knowing that, though she was several years my senior, she could say nothing to a pureblood heir in the area of which she stood upon. "Sir, I have tried my best to search for some, asking quite a number of experts myself. There just isn't one that is strong enough and safe enough to pull her out."  
  
"Then you're not trying hard enough!" I stood from my seat, the billowing black cloak I had worn against the cold rippling about me.  
  
"I am afraid I can do no more-,"  
  
"Then leave," I told her, making my hostility quite clear. "We have no further uses for you. I will find the cure for myself, since it his obviously out of your intellectual reach." Without even the smallest inkling of an apology, I stalked past her and out the door, hurrying down the stairs in earnest. I didn't even look back at Pansy, knowing that if I took that one second to do so, it would be a second I could put to better use saving her life.  
  
My cloak spilled behind me, coating the entire staircase with darkened shadows in my wake. It reflected the smoke of kindling rage within me.  
  
I hurried to the second floor, stomping through the halls in spoiled determination. Once I found the oak doors I was looking for I kicked them open, much too infuriated to do otherwise.  
  
"Everyone out," I bellowed, calling the attention of all the servants sweeping, dusting, reading and tidying the room. "Everyone out now." I didn't care if it took longer without help or not, if there was a cure of Indian Lotus, it wouldn't matter how long Pansy stayed in her unconsciousness. Besides, I wanted to do this on my own. I wasn't partial to help.  
  
As quickly and quietly as they could, every servant skittered out with their brooms and feather dusters in hand. They closed the doors behind themselves, a wise choice to anyone with eyes. The moment I was alone I began tearing books off the shelf. I threw aside the ones that had no relevance to illness and medical mechanics. But anything that had 'cures', 'healing potions', 'miracle spells', 'Greek mythology' and the like I tossed onto the table in the middle of the room.  
  
The Parkinson library wasn't anything close to the Malfoy one, but it was the size of our Slytherin common room and it was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves overflowing with books. Though some Slytherin's were not known for their genius, it was ancient tradition for the pure lines to be granted the highest standards of education. I mean to say, Voldemort was Head Boy in his day, now wasn't he? And my father received his job by his undeniable brilliance.  
  
My father. My heart began to beat with much more pronouncement then before. My jaw tightened and I could feel the blood pumping in my ears. He had done this to Pansy. He had done it to her out of sheer insanity, for there was no other explanation for it. He had always wanted power over others, though he wanted it in the form of the Dark Lord's right-hand man rather than being the Dark Lord himself. Pulling off a testing was just a way for him to get his kicks about being Mr. Head Death Eater.  
  
Using the loathing sting for my father to better use, I drilled through the entire collection of books in maybe half the time it would have normally taken me. I had already spent three and a half hours filtering down to the helpful ones and I was no where near to solving my problem. So I set to work searching everything, cutting no corners and leaving nothing to chance. I checked anything and everything that sounded, even looked, like it could help Pansy. I was that determined.  
  
By the time another three hours rolled by I was becoming desperate. I had found not a single book that came close to mentioning the Indian Lotus, let alone a cure. I had also broadened my search for spells that could fix numerous illnesses; but the rarity of the Lotus was so advanced that there weren't even tales or legends based on it. But there had to be something. Anything could be fixed with magic. Anything save for death; but that was a whole other story.right?  
  
Frustrated, I pulled over the third to last book of my pile. I looked down at the cover and suddenly felt my heart stop beating. It was a book based on the Dark Arts; one that contained advanced and very dangerous spells on ancient illnesses. I peeled back the cover without hesitation, flipping through section after section, trying to find one that came close to what I was looking. Then I found it. The heading was written in black ink; so black that it was a menacing blue.  
  
BEULA DORMIENS: TO RETURN THE DORMANT TO THE LIVING  
  
It was much more specific than I was hoping for. I retrieved my wand from my pocket and lit the tip, casting even more light onto the page instead of the slightly dimmed chandelier light hanging above me. My eyes took in everything I read and my brain registered it; but my heart felt heavy with dread as the meaning of what I this spell could do hit me.  
  
Beula Dormiens is not to be dealt with lightly. It is Dark Arts so  
advanced, that it can only be performed on a living mortal once in a lifetime. To regard this rule is fatal, as Beula Dormiens can also be a less potent form of Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. But take heed to he who performs Beula Dormiens as well, for the spell can only be performed by a person once in a lifetime also. To go against this would be to reverse  
the final outcome, and draw the performer into dormancy as well.  
  
Beula Dormiens is an ancient spell, brought about by the early Egyptian wizards. But unlike the spells performed in their era, no other object is required save for the wand, as the spell is too dark to entail otherwise.  
  
To activate the spell, began as said thus. Hold the wand in your left hand, fingers clasped firmly around the handle. Point the tip directly to the person you wish to revive and hold it steadily above their heart. Calm your breathing and heart rate, as nervousness and anxiety can penetrate the  
magical field and destroy the entire process.  
  
The incantation at the bottom of the page must be said clearly and without  
falter.  
  
WARNING: If the spell is not performed to its highest rank and exact perfection, results may vary to the borders of disaster. Do not attempt  
this spell if you have a severe fear of death.  
  
Well, that was merry, wasn't it? A spell you could only use once but had to be performed to maximum perfection or else all is lost? Talk about the unfairness of the Dark Arts. I could practically feel my heart right down to my feet as my entire body went numb.  
  
I couldn't do this. I couldn't do Beula Dormiens even if I could. I wasn't the cleverest wizard in school, that was Granger's stupid title, and I didn't have the confidence to achieve this spell because that was Potter's idiotic strategy. I didn't even have the motivation to perform it because the Weasel had already stolen that tactic off the shelf. I couldn't do it even if I had the confidence, the motivation and the cleverness. And even if I attempted the spell, I could trap Pansy in her mind forever or add to the horror by reversing the effect on my self.  
  
In a fit of rage I slammed the book closed and hurled it at the oak doors. The pages flailed when they assumed contact and the book fell to the floor, its pages thrown open to stare at me where I sat. I could feel the anger rise up in me even more now; the selfishness of my upbringing scorching me from within. But something else masked the fury and hatred I was creating inside. It was something I had felt before, but not in such intensity that it took a few moments before I could place it.  
  
Defeat. It stung my throat with its sound and pierced my lungs with its treachery. So there it was, the only way to save Pansy and I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it because I was weak, pathetic and broken. And the Lotus was much too rare with its symptoms for me to have hopes in finding another cure. I bent my head low, shamed. Defeated.  
  
For a long time I sat there, soaking in the misery that was my loss and wallowing in sorrows like some bloody girl. And all I could think of was her. I didn't return to her. I was afraid she'd be gone when I got back. I was afraid that she'd vanished without a trace and I'd have to live with the image of her empty bed where she had once lain. I'd rather live forever with the memory of her lying as if only in light slumber on her bed. If I forced myself hard enough, maybe I could convince my self over the years that she really was just sleeping, and that she had probably woken the next morning. Maybe, if I concentrated hard enough, I could imagine a world without her. She wouldn't really be gone; she'd be alive with her presence. I would-  
  
No. No, I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't abuse her memory like that. And I couldn't give up like that either. Deep down, I knew that the thing I truly feared was hurting my self during the spell; that had always been my barrier: my self. But for some odd reason, I didn't matter anymore. For all I was aware, I didn't care if I lived; just as long as Pansy did. I loved her so much that I would give my life for her. I loved her.  
  
I stood up hastily, striding over to the book near the door and snatching it back up. Not even considering the rest of the household gone in sleep, I kicked the doors open once more, my eyes never leaving the page of the spell. I memorized all the way to her room, reciting it down to an art by the time I was at the top floor.  
  
I was so lost in my concentration that I didn't even notice when I threw the book over the rail or whipped out my wand and blasted her door off its hinges. The huge, black door flew into the room, landing on the floor and sliding to the foot of the bed; the bed where she still lay, waiting.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy!"  
  
I turned around, my body language unaffected by the distressed call. I looked down the stairwell and saw the Healer running towards me, Mrs. Parkinson at her heels with three servants in tow. It seemed that the racket I had created did not sit well with any of them.  
  
"Draco, darling, what are you doing?" Mrs. Parkinson cried out, losing the edge in her voice when she called me 'darling'. "I know you're distraught with what is happening to Pansy, but you can't deal with it like this!"  
  
She thought I was just acting out due to my anger when, in truth, I was causing such an uproar because I had become deaf; deaf to the subtle sounds and revolutions of every day life. It was as if all my senses had turned off and all my thoughts swept away save for one: the one that held the words to Beula Dormiens. I was acting out due to my intense determination.  
  
Without even realizing what I was doing, I whirled around to face them, wand at the ready. The darkened ebony of my wand gleamed in the hall's dim light, sending a flash of white across my face. With an expression of absolute emptiness, I pointed my wand down at them from the top of the stairs and muttered a single word under my breath. Simply by the adrenaline running through my veins the Freezing Charm worked flawlessly. They froze ten steps away from me, each one staring up with wide, bewildered eyes. But I had better things to do.  
  
Turning my focus back into the depths of the room, I strode over to her bedside, gazing down at her light form. Shifting my wand into my left hand, I pointed its end directly above her chest, precisely where her heart still hopefully beat with life. My breathing had become rapid, and my fear was mounting higher and higher. But I didn't back down. I couldn't back down and I wouldn't.  
  
Calming my nerves, I closed my eyes focusing everything into that moment; a moment that would determine everything that mattered to me. The words materialized in my head and I wasted no time in reciting them. This was for her. This was because I was in love. This was because I was in love with her.  
  
"Treguna," I started, pronouncing every syllable with the greatest of care. I wasn't even sure what language the words derived from, but I wasn't going to mispronounce them and ruin everything. "Mekoides trecorum," I continued. I focused everything onto Pansy, using every emotion, every thought, and every ounce of magic I could tap into. "Satis dee."  
  
A dark, black light began to form in the small space between my wand tip and Pansy, slowly growing bigger and bigger. I stared at it for a while, and then past it, into her face. For a moment I saw something flicker there. Was it the sheen of revival? I held my breath, waiting for the flicker to return; but it didn't. Instead, the black light had grown so great that it consumed the entire room, drawing us into a blinding darkness. Suddenly, my body went cold.  
  
Had I done it wrong? Was it, in fact, turning against me instead of saving her? Had I done it wrong?  
  
Then, from absolutely no where, a searing pain burst from somewhere inside my chest. I tried to scream, to let some of the agony escape me through a cry, but my voice had been ripped away from me only to be replaced with an echoing silence. I had done it wrong. I had done it wrong and now I was dying because of it. I was dying alongside Pansy. We would die together.  
  
My knees fell out from under me, stinging as I hit the stone floor. A horrible sensation came over me as the odd feeling of something draining out of me took over, but that was the oddest part. By some strange occurrence my hand that held my wand was still locked in position right above Pansy's heart, frozen there with no way of breaking loose. And it was like Pansy was the one draining whatever it was out of me and into her. I could feel the rippling sensation travel over my body, down my arm, through my wand and then fall into her. It was painful, yet mind-boggling.  
  
With what little strength I had, I forced my head up, looking at her one last time. At the sight of her face a memory flashed through my head. I was eight and it was the day I met her. She looked like a china doll, in a black dress with a sheet of dark hair. Her light skin, the white bow, her black eyes. The way she looked even smaller sitting on one of our huge armchairs. Then the memory was gone, one more wave of pain, and then I was lost into the darkness as well.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Have you ever been thrown into an empty room with no lights and nothing with you? Or have you even experienced darkness so precise that it seemed to be more alive than you were? Or how about fallen into sleep, had the worst nightmare in history, and then have that horrid fear that you'd be stuck in the nightmare forever because you just couldn't wake yourself up? If you have, then you'd have some idea of what it felt like to be trapped by Indian Lotus.  
  
I don't know exactly how I could explain it, but it was as if my entire body had shut down and yet my mind was still going while also frozen in one moment. All I knew was that I was trapped in night; in a night that would never end, waiting for a dawn that would never come and a day that just didn't exist. It was a fate worse than death; which was saying a lot due to the fact that I was dying.  
  
Oh yeah, I knew I was losing in the battle for my life. I could just feel it, even though I was completely numb all over. But somehow the prospect of death did not scare me, only the thought that I'd never see anyone again; that I'd never see Draco again.  
  
I knew it was him who had come to my rescue. I knew he was that fair angel bounding up the stairs towards me only seconds before I collapsed. He had come running the moment he thought I was in trouble. And I couldn't deny it, but a swelling of joy had erupted when I figured that out, even though I was poisoned.  
  
So when I saw that rip of light through the darkness, my heart leapt right into my throat. Well, if I could have felt my heart, it would have leapt. It was the whole 'light at the end of the tunnel' bit that freaked me a little. As grateful it was to see light through my eternity of night, I couldn't help but wonder: am I dying? People always said to not go towards the light if they wanted you to stay alive, so did that apply to now?  
  
But it was so inviting, like being locked inside all your life and then suddenly the doors are opened and before you stands the entire world. It was a temptation that I could not resist. I headed for the light.  
  
When I awoke, my eyes didn't flutter open like a princess' would in a fairy tale. They simply opened, as if I had only blinked. It took awhile for me to register where I was, having had no use of my body for who knew how long.  
  
First thing I did was find out where I was. Was I in Heaven, or in Hell? Or was I was in that random place of Purgatory or was it Limbo? Was I even dead? Very slowly, I looked around the room, my eyes darting around because I wasn't sure if I could move my head. A pink canopy above me, a stone wall in front of me and a pink, fabric drape outlining what looked like a doorframe. I was in my room.  
  
So I was alive. I great weight was lifted off me as I let that single thought sink in. I was alive. I was alive. I. Was. Alive.  
  
Slowly, very, very, very slowly, I sat up, closing my eyes through the effort. My entire body was sore, from the aftermath of the Lotus and the result of being stuck in bed for what could have been a lifetime. My heart beat painfully against my chest, sending an aching ripple through my body. But that didn't matter, because my heart was beating, slow and steady. I was alive.  
  
I sat up straight, ignoring the scream of protest from my back. I focused my eyes on the doors before me. No, not doors; just a door. One door stood, basically unharmed, where I left it while the other looked as though it had been blasted from its hinges. It lay immobile at the floor of my bed.  
  
Wondering what on earth happened, I raked my hand through my hair, so glad to feel its soft texture through my fingers. I was alive. I took in a deep breath, the cold air refreshing, and then, as if drawn, I looked down at my side.  
  
Draco lay next me, silent, still and asleep. I hadn't even felt him there, let alone noticed him. He lay on his back, the covers pulled just to the middle of his torso and his arms at his side. I couldn't tell if he was breathing, but I wouldn't have noticed even if I checked. I just stared at him.  
  
He was the one I had missed while I was trapped. His was the face that I thought of when I had lost hope. He was what I had wanted to live for. I didn't even know why I was feeling this way about him, but I didn't have the energy in me to deny it.  
  
I shifted my weight so that I was leaning over him, staring down at his face. For a second something about him struck me as odd; he did not seem to be alive, with his face drained of even their pale color and his body radiating no warmth. It was strange.  
  
Slowly, I raised a hand and brought it to his cheek. I could feel the coldness of him on my skin, the softness of him on my entire body.  
  
And then, without warning, his hand shot up and snatched my own, the movement so fast and so fixed that I didn't even see it. I didn't pull away and I didn't scream; I didn't even jump. It was almost as thought I expected it.  
  
His eyes opened then and locked directly into mine. The expression on his face was typical, strong and impassive, imposing and cunning as well. We held one another's gaze for just a moment, my dark eyes looking down to him and his gray ones looking up to mine.  
  
Then, with such earnest and intensity that it struck me dumb, he sat up and pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around my entire body and resting his head against my collarbone. At first I was caught by surprise, though my expression did not change in the slightest. But then I brought my hands up and cradled his head to my shoulder, my cheek to rest on his hair. And then I knew that he had brought me back, he had saved me.  
  
As we sat there, the sun began to climb its climb into the sky, its rays gliding over the entire manor. Trailing behind it was a soft wind, barely skimming the grass with its soft whisper. It blew down along the river, where the ashes of the Lotus flower still sat at the water's edge. Then, with the quietest whistle, the wind blew the ashes into the river until they floated away and were consumed by the water.  
  
*******  
  
A/N: The End. NOT! Muahahaha, like this is the end of the story. Yeah right, I got way too many tricks up my sleeve before this baby is done. Remember, this is the dark side of romance. Everything that has happened so far is just the tip of the iceberg. Draco and Pansy's romance isn't going to be light and fluffy like a Gryffindor romance, so keep that in mind.  
  
Anyway, I would like to take this time now to thank Miss Breezy Columb aka Apolla2 for basically giving me the entirety of this chapter. Without her 'mild brilliance', I would still be sitting in my room, staring at my computer and praying God would send me a Heaven-made author to do this chapter for me. Thanks Breezy, you are the Great One.  
  
But to get on with it, I hoped you guys liked this chapter and would please review. Chapter nine will be done much sooner than this one was so stay tuned. Oh! And extra points to anyone who knows where the incantation "Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee' comes from. I'll tell you in the next chapter, but fifty million zillion dollars to anyone who can find its origin! Good luck and God bless. 


	9. The Way Darkness Comes

Chapter Nine ~ The Way Darkness Comes  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Don't think that Draco and I ended up like some fairy tale in a storybook. Because we didn't. The knight in shining armor rode in on his valiant steed and rescued the princess; but happily ever after was everywhere but near. Things, however, did change. And for the better, I might add. But I knew it wouldn't last.  
  
For starters, my mother couldn't have been happier. I'd never seen her eyes light up so quickly and the color flood back into her cheeks like that since, well, never. And I had caused her joy by just walking into the parlor. Well, sort of walked in. Actually, Draco was half dragging me since I was still trying to remember how my legs worked.  
  
The moment he slid back the parlor door my mother was on me before I had even looked up. She held me tight and started crying; crying joyous tears and mumbling nonstop in my hair. Over her shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a very relieved, middle-aged woman I had never seen before. She was dressed in flawless white robes with Hermes' staff embroidered on her chest and I guessed she was a Healer from St. Mungo's.  
  
After a few minutes of bawling and hugging, my mother moved on from me to Draco, snagging him into an even tighter embrace, if that were possible. I collapsed into the closest armchair, my legs shaking and my back sore from lying on it for so long. But at the sight of Draco's face I couldn't help suppress a small smile. My mother was rocking back and forth, thanking him over and over again for saving her little baby and stroking his hair like a loyal little puppy. Draco seemed a bit overwhelmed, and I could see surprise, shock, embarrassment, joy and nothing spread across his face.  
  
After a while my mother let him go, rather reluctantly, and ushered all three of us through the other door of the parlor and into the living area. She practically shoved us onto the sofa and called the servants to fetch us drinks and biscuits. She, herself, did not sit down while the Healer took a seat in the armchair next to the fireplace.  
  
"Oh Draco, you don't know how thankful I am," she said, for about the millionth time. She was leaning against the mantelpiece and staring at him as if he were the immaculate Holy Grail itself. "By the way darling, how on earth did you do it?"  
  
"Yes," the Healer said, leaning forward in her seat and resting her chin on her hands. "I am very interested as well. Not even our most brilliant researchers could find even the slightest charm that could stir Pansy, let alone bring her fully back to life. Please tell us, how did you manage it on your own?"  
  
I glanced at him, leaning back against the soft cushions of the sofa. To say the least, I was very curious indeed. Not to be offensive to Draco Malfoy, but he wasn't exactly top of our year and he had at least some trouble in all our classes save for Potions; so how was he able to accomplish what even the wizards and witches at St. Mungo's couldn't?  
  
"I used the Dark Arts," he half whispered, staring at the ground. He spoke as if he didn't want anyone to hear, but sadly for him, everyone did. I wasn't the least bit miffed. I had suspected the Dark Arts, for what respectable good witch or wizard would spend their time trying to invent a spell that could cure an unbelievably rare poison? My reaction, however, won most subtle from the contestants of three. The Healer gasped, sitting back in her chair and clamping her hand to her mouth. Quite the contrary to her, my mother's chest swelled with delight and she beamed down at Draco.  
  
"And what of the Dark Arts did you use, Draco?" she asked, smiling widely. Draco did not return the smile, but the smallest hint of pride flicked across his eyes.  
  
"Beula Dormiens," he replied. My mother nodded, earning a horrified squeak from the Healer.  
  
"Zhyerra, I am appalled! How can you stand there and listen to this young man as he boasts about using illegal magic? Not to mention that he is an underage wizard in training!"  
  
My mother glared coldly at the woman, her Slytherin colors finally showing. "Grace, I think your duties here have been fulfilled. You may return to your own home or to your post down at the hospital. We are in no more need of your services." She clapped her hands twice then, and one of the men servants appeared in the doorway. "Please retrieve Miss Grace DuWhall's things and escort her to the door please."  
  
I shot a glance at the Healer, Miss DuWhall, and noted that she looked very insulted indeed. But one death glare from my mother sent her trailing behind the man servant without so much as a few disgruntled huffs.  
  
"Well, that takes care of her," my mother said the moment the door shut closed. "Now Draco, tell me exactly how you preformed Beula Dormiens. I, myself, remember learning it back when I was just your age; and even then my scholars were much too afraid to deal with it." She rested her elbow on the mantelpiece and gazed down at him. I had always known that my mother had this strange ability to make herself cunning and imposing when she wanted to, almost as though she pulled a veil down over herself that radiated the light of power. She had done it just now, and I realized why she was such a highly praised Death Eater.  
  
And because of my ongoing admiration of my mother, I didn't notice that Draco was speaking, telling the story of how he had brought me back; starting with the moment he caught me after I passed out.  
  
To be honest, I was captivated. Everything he said, from sitting at my bed side night after night, to taking a journey to Azkaban alone, to meeting his father and to finding out I was dying shocked me. Well, I hadn't known I was dying, so the shock level on that piece of information was doubled. But everything else.I was speechless.  
  
"I was angry that she was dying, so I decided to do something about it. I went into your library, did a brief research and performed the spell on Pansy. It's not as big as you think it is," Draco concluded, leaning back against the sofa. He spoke as if he did nothing more than pull a cat out of a tree. Then again, Draco had never been the hero before, so he didn't know exactly how to act.  
  
My mother, however, only smiled at him. I suspected more praise and congratulations from her, but she merely sighed and said "Draco, I think it is you who needs the rest now. Go on home, dear, and when you're both better.well, I leave that up to you." She walked over to him, her black robes trailing across the ground, and pulled Draco to his feet and into another hug. "But I want to thank you." She paused and held him at arm's length. "You are not your father."  
  
At this, Draco only nodded and then turned to leave; closing the door behind him in only three long strides. I looked back at my mother and saw that she was staring after Draco with misted eyes. But she quickly wiped them away before the tears could fall. "Well darling, I'll be with you in a minute. I just want to owl Gertrude to tell her you're alright." Gertrude was Millicent's mother, and I knew Millie would have been worried about me. She was the closest thing I had to a best friend. But before she left, my mother gave a look that told me all I needed to know. Once she left, I jumped to my feet, (or at least, tried to jump), and bolted through the door after Draco. When I entered the entrance hall he was coming down the stairs, fastening his cloak about his shoulders and reaching into his pocket for the Portkey.  
  
"Draco," I called, my voice sounding feeble and tired against the echoing stone. He looked up then, those damn eyes of his, impassive once more. I wanted something in them to make what I was going to say easier. I mean, it was what would have been expected of me, but still.  
  
He stopped at the very bottom of the stairs, staring at me. His hair was tousled, but it didn't look untidy; not like Potter's. Everything about Draco was clean and precise, even when he hadn't meant it to be. He stared at me, his lean body lost in the folds of his magnificent cloak.  
  
I walked up to him, not meaning to take my time but not having the strength to go any faster than I was. But Draco, being Draco, didn't say anything to me but kept a civil silence; a silence reserved for only an heiress to the family name. When I reached him my knees buckled and I fell, but thankfully, my knight was still on duty and he caught me in time.again.  
  
"Sorry about that," I muttered as he pushed me to my feet. I looked up into his face, not really sure how to show gratitude other than just coming out and saying it. "Thank you," I said rather feebly, staring at his chest instead of those blank eyes. I rung my hands together, and then before I could ponder the idea any longer, I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him down into another hug, stronger this time though, leaning my head against his. "Thank you," I said more strongly this time.  
  
I held him tight, even though he didn't return the hug; but I knew he felt it and accepted it.  
  
"All right then, you better go," I finally said, releasing him and stepping away.  
  
We stared at each other for a moment, an understanding forming between us, then he said, "I'll be back tomorrow," and was gone in a rush of wind, the Portkey whipping him away from Parkinson Manor much too soon.  
  
*Draco*  
  
The moment my feet hit solid ground once more I fell to my knees. I was tired, weaker than I had ever felt in my life and sick beyond anything in the world. That was probably why I was so removed at Parkinson Manor, especially from Pansy. I didn't want to show that I was ill, more or less because I knew Pansy was still feeble from the Lotus. When I had relived the events of the past week to Mrs. Parkinson, I was afraid that I'd pass out at any minute. I had hurried through the tale as quickly as I could without being suspicious, not really paying attention to what I was saying or elaborating on any of the details. I just had to leave.  
  
Thankfully, Mrs. Parkinson must have noticed something was wrong with me, so I was pleased when she sent me home instead of interrogating me about Beula Dormiens. Pansy must not have noticed, but I would make amends with her when I was feeling better. Even when she hugged me before I left I was nauseas, but her small arms were cold against my back. I wanted to stand there and let her freeze me over until the sickness washed away but I knew I couldn't. Before she had even properly bid me farewell, I was gone.  
  
Now I was back in my own room, back amongst my own expensive furnishings and amongst the people I call family. I unhooked my cloak and left it on the floor, something I normally wouldn't be caught doing. I dragged myself to my bed and fell down onto the cool satin sheets. I knew I was beyond regular illness, having performed Dark Magic far beyond my years. This was the toll I had to take for the spell and if I thought hard enough, it was worth it.  
  
Hot bile rose in my throat and I could tell a fever was setting in, but if I didn't eat something soon, I would surely perish from pitiable hunger rather than noble suffering. Trying hard not to think of the dizziness that settled around me, I pushed myself to my feet and fought to remain standing. When I was sure that I wouldn't keel over, I walked out of my door and down the grand staircase, concentrating very hard on every step I made.  
  
As I descended the stairs I vaguely noticed the entire staff of servants rushing about on every floor, dusting this and sweeping that, making everything was in its right place and trying not to kill one another in their frenzy. Cleaning spells were flying here and there, and I remember having to duck from an extremely violent Folding Charm as it whizzed from one side of the second floor to the other. A very unfortunate butler was struck with it and his limbs began to abruptly jerk from this way to that, trying to fold themselves into a neat little pile. Needless to say the man was in much pain and five other servants had to rush to his aid and undo the charm.  
  
Disregarding their odd tidying frenzy, I descended the first floor landing at last. I walked as quickly as I could towards the kitchens, thankful that the maids had the sense to steer out of my way as they bustled about. But when I had almost reached the hall leading to the kitchen I stopped. I'd have to pass the parlor on my way and the door was opened, indicating that my mother was in there. I didn't want to see her or talk to her, but I was already feeling starved as it was. Intending to just slip past her, I rushed quickly and silently across her door.  
  
"Draco," my mother called as I flashed past. Damn. I stopped and backtracked, looking into the room. She was seated in the winged armchair in front of the fireplace, her back towards me. I looked at her through the mirror over the mantelpiece, our eyes meeting briefly in the glittering glass. My father had that mirror put up there for me specifically. He hated it when I'd spy on his business when I was little, so he'd had that mirror placed there so he would always have a clear view of the door.  
  
Through the mirror I could tell that my mother was tense about something. She was dressed plainly and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. There was a letter in her lap and the grip she had on it told me that whatever it said had caused the strange behaviors experienced around the house.  
  
I walked in, the heat from the fire causing me to break out in a sweat and doing nothing to help relieve me of my fever. "Hello mother," I said. I extended her nothing more than that.  
  
"You're back," she replied, stating the obvious. "So I assume Pansy is.?" she offered me the decision to finish or remain quiet as he stared at me through the mirror.  
  
"She's alive," I said. My mother shifted in her seat.  
  
"I am happy to hear that." And remarkably, she was not lying. She stood up then and turned to me, her face soft yet stern. She wore a cotton grey dress with long sleeves and black buttons down her front. The skirt rippled about her and they hid her feet as she walked to me. She looked down at me, her silver eyes unreadable as always; the exact replica of my own. My mother was a tall, lean woman, her elegance enhanced by the perfect match she made with my father. I was almost her height, but she still held three inches above me. She stared down at me now, inspecting my face. Then the back of her hand was on my forehead, checking my temperature.  
  
This was the mother I could almost love, one that was on the brink of humble.  
  
"You've a fever," she said, taking her hand away. I was surprised to see true concern spread across her face. "Your face is flushed and you're thinner. What happened to you?"  
  
"I haven't been eating. I've been taking care of Pansy," was all I said. No need to explain the Beula Dormiens to her. Apart from being proud, she would be furious. Since the recent whereabouts of my father, she had been very strict on keeping to the good side of the Ministry. Underage wizardry of the Dark Arts wouldn't exactly be keeping to her wishes. In fact, I was still awaiting the owl from the Ministry expelling me from Hogwarts for performing such magic.  
  
"In that case, I expect you to eat well tonight and get to bed early. You need to be rested by tomorrow morning." She turned away then, walking back to the mantelpiece and placing the letter on it.  
  
"Why?" I asked, though I knew she had already given me the dismissal. I should have taken it, seeing as the fire wasn't exactly curing me of my ailment, but curiosity held me back. "What's happening tomorrow?"  
  
"You've been gone for over a week; I wouldn't expect you to know," she said strongly.  
  
I wasn't backing down. "Then tell me."  
  
"We all must be up and about early in the morning; and wear your casual dress robes." She tugged down the sleeves of her dress, a sure sign of her nervousness.  
  
"Why my dress robes?" I asked, my suspicions mounting. My mother stared into the fire.  
  
"Someone is coming."  
  
"Who?"  
  
The fire made her eyes look white, a strange affect that I couldn't figure out. "You're father is coming home," she said.  
  
Damn.  
  
****  
  
A/N: So that was a short chapter and sadly, that's the fluffiest we'll get in this story. Kind of depressing, huh? Anyway, I hope you guys like it and please read and review. Extra Kudos for Marleina for figuring the birth place of the Beula Dormiens incantation. 'Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee' is from Bedknobs and Broomsticks, only one of the best movies in the world! 


	10. The Way The Table Turned

Chapter Ten ~ The Way The Table Turned  
  
*Pansy*  
  
The day Mr. Malfoy returned home is a day I shall never forget. This is saying something, as my life seems to be made up of unforgettable mornings and nights. Oh the perks of being a Slytherin.  
  
The first thing I can recall of that day is waking up the morning after I 'came back'. To my own astonishment, I was extremely tired the night before. One would think that eleven days of lying unconsciously in their bed would pretty much rest the person up for a couple of days, but that didn't seem to be the case for me. The energy I had burned simply walking around the manor must've been the only energy I had, because I remember sleeping once I returned to my bed and then waking up to sore muscles, a dull headache and a clouded sky.  
  
It was late in the afternoon when I decided to get up, and the moment I had pulled myself out of bed my mother came into my room. She opened the door slowly, though I could tell that there was nothing to be calm about. She looked frazzled, as if she had spent the entire morning pacing the living room and scratching her head as she tried to solve something.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed. She sighed heavily and lifted her left hand, showing the manila letter that she held there. The moment I spotted it my eyes grew wide and I drew back the smallest bit. I had learned not to trust letters any more. "Who's it from?" I asked.  
  
My mother lowered her arm. "It's from Narcissa," was her answer.  
  
I let out a sigh; just as long as it wasn't from Azkaban.  
  
"She's inviting us over for dinner tonight," my mother told me. She stood straighter and leaned a shoulder against my door post. "It's a welcome home dinner. Pansy, Lucius Malfoy came home today."  
  
Damn.  
  
"I'm not going," I said, already climbing back under my covers. I was really defeating the purpose of Draco bringing me back by sleeping all the time, but what else was I to do? I'd certainly pick an eternity of slumber rather then dine with my potential killer.  
  
"I know you don't want to Pansy," my mother began, walking into the room. "But I'd really appreciate it if you did."  
  
"Why? So he can drop an unpreserved Mandrake root into my drink when I'm not looking? Mother, I'm afraid of him," I confessed, going to any lengths to evade this dinner at all costs.  
  
"I know, I know." She knelt at my bed side, leaning on her elbows on the mattress. "But I'll be there, and the Bulstrodes, and the Zabinis. Don't forget Crabbe and Goyle." I glared at her, letting her know exactly how much that information didn't help in the slightest. "Alright look, Lucius Malfoy is the only Death Eater to get off without any criminal charges. His hearing was two days ago, according to Narcissa, and he was let off with not a negative word against him. It seemed he had a pretty decent defense and very accurate evidence. Not to mention their connections within the Ministry and the money they burn on keeping those connections."  
  
I leaned against the headboard, listening.  
  
"And I'm not saying it was wrong of him to lie like he did and that he should stay in Azkaban and rot to death; but he should have at least attempted to save the other Death Eaters. They asked him for his word, for or against the other convicted Death Eaters and do you know what he said? Nothing. Absolutely nothing in response. He left them all there, including your father."  
  
"Won't the Dark Lord punish him for is disloyalties to his fellow servants?" I asked, not really caring for the answer but trying to steer the subject away from me for as long as possible.  
  
"No; and why would he? Our Master cares only for his servants loyalties to him, not one another. Lucius did not give the Dark Lord's name so he will be left unharmed by both the Ministry and us." There was a definite note of resentment in her tone. "Which brings us to the dinner. I'm not lying to you honey, but this dinner is intended for the wives of the convicted Death Eaters. Honestly, I don't know why we're having a meeting, but I've got to be there."  
  
"So go," I said, failing to keep the harshness out of my words. "You don't need my permission to be there and you certainly don't need me to bring you." Stale thunder sounded from far off into the horizon and a heavy rain began to fall. "And now it's raining, just another reason to stay home and not go."  
  
She pushed herself off the ground and sat on the edge of the bed. "Everyone will be expecting you. You know the embarrassment of not attending such a big event."  
  
"Its dinner and some Dark Arts, not exactly the Yule Ball, mother."  
  
"Millicent will be there. Her and Blaise, little Vincent, and Gregory. And what about Draco?"  
  
I yawned. "What about Draco?"  
  
"He'll want you to come," she said. I shook my head.  
  
"It's his house; he can brave the terrain alone." I stared at her and she stared back. "You just don't want to go alone, do you?" I asked.  
  
She didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes."  
  
I brought my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them and staring at the comforter. "Can't you just go alone?" I pleaded. My mother sighed again and lifted my head back up with her hand. She looked me square in the eyes.  
  
"Pansy, it's not just that I don't want to go alone; it's about you too. You need to show your pride, sweetheart. I want you to walk in there with your head held high and show Lucius Malfoy that he can't touch you. You need to show him that your father was not a coward and that you are no daughter of a coward either." She tucked my hair behind my ear. "For your father and yourself, Pansy," she said. I breathed.  
  
"Do I have to wear pink?" I asked. My mother smiled.  
  
"Would you if I asked you to?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then my answer is the same as yours. Wear whatever you like." She leaned over, kissed the top of my head and headed for the door. "The dinner's at eight, so we'll be leaving at seven thirty." Then with a wave of her hand, she had closed the door behind her.  
  
*  
  
By the time the clock struck seven I was ready. It had taken me all day just to get out of bed, shower and dress; already assuming that I had to travel very slowly as my body didn't seem to really want to move at all.  
  
I had decided to wear my pale blue robes, the pastel color making my hair look darker than ever. It was a stunning ensemble, one that our own seamstress designed for me. I had on a long, flowing skirt of blue silk with a blouse that matched. I had wrapped my satin midnight blue cloak around my shoulders and placed a simple blue headband on my head. Sapphire earrings, sapphire pendent and silver woven bracelet and then I was done, ready to wait the next half-hour before we had to leave. I did not bother with make up, I was far too tired and it hadn't been my style to use it until the end of fifth year.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, my mother came into the room, dressed in silver robes and a silk cloak that glistened when she moved. Her jewelry was simple as well aside from the ornate family ring on her right hand.  
  
"You're wearing blue," she said tilting her head at me and smiling. "I thought you had told Mademoiselle Carina that you wanted that color changed to something darker, like green?"  
  
"I almost did," I told her, "but I decided that she was right in picking this color."  
  
"Everyone will be dressed in darker colors," she told me. I shrugged.  
  
"I am aware. I only wore this to annoy Mr. Malfoy, if you don't mind, mother. He does have this strange dislike for bright things. You wouldn't think so, however, considering his hair."  
  
She laughed. "And how could I be prouder with a girl like you for a daughter?" she said. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs." And then she left, still smiling.  
  
I sat on my bed for a little bit longer, prolonging our departure. I still didn't want to go not just because of Mr. Malfoy but because of everyone being there. For some reason I didn't really want to see my friends, not even Millicent or Draco.  
  
I looked towards my vanity and saw myself in the mirror. I was skinny and pale, my eyes an incredibly darker brown even compared to my hair. I wasn't pretty like Blaise but I wasn't exactly plain like Millicent; but I didn't have the sometimes cruel impulses as Blaise nor the surprising kindness of Millicent. I was just Pansy. And it wasn't that I hated who I was or how I looked, and I didn't exactly love it either. But I'd love it tonight, for the sake of keeping my pride. I'd be a different Pansy than I was in my room; I'd be nothing but nobility and imperialism. I would prove our Parkinson name.  
  
Securing my silver clasp on my cloak, I headed out the door after my mother, grabbing the Malfoy Manor Portkey off my vanity as I went.  
  
*  
  
Twenty minutes later I found myself slouching in an armchair in the Malfoy parlor, my head resting lazily on my hand, staring into the fireplace and trying not to get involved with the rapid cat fight occurring behind me consisting of Millicent trying to rip Blaise's hair out. Draco was only slightly affected by this mishap, and he stood off to one side of the two girls shouting idle instructions to Crabbe and Goyle on how they could better restrain Millie if they each hooked on to one of her legs. Marcus Flint, Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard didn't help the cause; they were standing protectively on either side of Blaise, but they were coaxing Millicent forward as they did so.  
  
My mother and I had been the second to last to arrive. The moment we appeared in the entrance hall, one of the human servants guided me into the parlor and my mother into the living area. Typical dinner procedure; children in one room and adults in the other until the dinner had been served and we reunite in the dining area.  
  
As the man opened the door for me my eyes quickly found Draco. He was leaning against the wall near the fireplace, his arms folded over his chest and one foot propped against the wall as well. His head was bent low, staring at the floor. He wore the usual black, the only difference in his appearance being that his clothes look much too expensive and he looked absolutely dreadful while still retaining an elusive glow.  
  
Also in the room was Crabbe and Goyle, each sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, not saying much and basically sulking. They both wore what looked like brown robes, though Goyle's looked more like dirt rather than manure as Crabbe's did. Malcolm and Marcus were there, though they had collapsed in the sofa near the wall and Graham sort of moped in a corner, being the new recruit in the group and far too shy to sit near anyone.  
  
Millicent, in dark grey robes that actually complimented her large figure, was standing over by the window, watching the rain outside and talking animatedly about her summer so far. She had a glass of water in one hand and was emphasizing her words with the other, even though it didn't seem like any of the boys were listening.  
  
It seemed to me that no one had actually heard or noticed the servant and myself entering, so the man cleared his throat very loudly. When they all looked up he announced me and then left, closing the door behind me.  
  
"Pansy," Millicent cried from across the room. "So you really are alive?" she asked good-naturedly. I couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Since the last time I checked," I replied. She nodded to me, beaming as she did so. I turned my gaze over to Gregory and Vincent who had turned around in their seats to see me. I smiled whole-heartedly at them and they returned the gesture twenty times over, nodding enthusiastically. They weren't exactly men of many words.  
  
I received a respectable nod from Malcolm and grunt of approval from Marcus, but I didn't mind so much. Sometimes, those two could be complete idiots and sometimes only idiots. Acknowledging me was already beyond either's standards. I didn't receive any sort of greeting from Graham, however. He was blushing when I looked at him and I could have sworn he was about to wet himself. Feeble little first year afraid of an heiress. I almost felt bad for him.  
  
"But you're wearing blue," Millicent said, coming over from her place at the window. "You never wear blue, especially this bright. Our parents won't approve, although I don't mind it so much."  
  
"Do I look that strange?" I asked.  
  
She shrugged, grinning. "Not so much as usual."  
  
"You look fine," Draco said from behind me, and we both turned our heads to look at him. He hadn't moved; his head was still angled toward the floor, but his eyes had flicked up and were resting upon my own. Suddenly I was struck with the oddness of our situation. How were we to act in front of everyone? They had all seen how obviously mad I was with Draco when I got off the train and he had put up the veneer that he wasn't on pleasant terms with me either. But we weren't angry at one another any more, although I wasn't about to roll out the red carpet for him anytime soon.  
  
And he had said so many things to me, apologized to me, called me beautiful, and spoke to me at my bedside while I was asleep. He had saved me from the Lotus and he had kissed me, too.  
  
"Thanks," I said, moving over to him as Millicent turned to Crabbe and Goyle again and began telling the rest of her summer story. I stood in front of Draco, looking up into his face as shadows swirled with his flaxen hair and tainted skin. "You're ill," I said, not sounding at all worried although I really was. He shrugged, unfolding his arms and placing them in his pockets.  
  
"I'm alright," he said. "The question here is, are you okay?"  
  
"Of course I am," I replied vaguely. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
He lifted his chin. "Because I saved you."  
  
"Exactly why I'm perfectly alright," I answered quietly. I hadn't meant to say it, but it was the truth either way. He stared at me, not really searching for anything but just looking. "Is your father here--," I began, but Draco interrupted me.  
  
"I don't want to talk about my father," he said, placing both feet on the floor. I nodded.  
  
We fell silent then, neither of us finding any more words to say to one another. So we just sort of stood there, letting Millie's voice consume the quiet, the crackling fire creating the perfect background for her. I remember unconsciously moving toward Draco, taking refuge in his arm and dreading the dinner even more.  
  
But then, just when she had reached the moment when she had been sitting in her room and received the letter telling how I had been poisoned, the parlor door was opened once more. I broke away from Draco as we all turned around to see who had come. The same man who had brought me stood there, hands behind his back and chest thrown out in a would-be stately manner.  
  
"Beloved heirs and heiresses, I present to you Miss Blaise Reignah Zabini, daughter and heiress to Preston and Venus Zabini of the Duncan and Zabini Clans." The man bowed to his side and extended his hand, revealing the girl standing behind him.  
  
We all gasped; well, save for Draco, he merely furrowed his brow in confusion. If she hadn't been announced as Blaise Zabini I would have mistaken her for an Irish Goddess because, let's face it, she looked incredible.  
  
It was one of those 'miracle over the summer' things, though Blaise had taken it to a whole other level. She had already been pretty before, but now, in only a little of two weeks, she looked dazzling. Her bright red hair had reached its full potential now, radiating such heat that it put the blazing fire to shame. The soft gold of her skin was just perfect and her green eyes could even put Potter's to disgrace, seeing as they were the only respectable feature on him.  
  
She had donned a hunter green dress of Roman fashion, the one strap fastening on her shoulder with a gold clasp and the sleeves sweeping her arms elegantly. The floor-length skirt fanned out at her feet and a thin, sheer cloak was wrapped about her shoulders.  
  
"Blaise," I managed, smiling widely at her. "You look amazing."  
  
"Why thank you," she replied sauntering into the room as the servant closed the door behind her. She didn't exactly reply kindly, though I didn't take it to account. I walked over to her, intending to ask her how her summer so far was, but she quickly looked past me and locked her eyes onto Draco, an eyebrow rising suggestively. "Good evening to you, Draco. And how have you been?"  
  
I stared at her, looked back at Draco and then to Millicent. Millie returned my gaze, though her eyes were wide though not in surprise. Blaise speaking to Draco? It was enough to baffle all of us. Blaise had always been somewhat of a closed girl. She could be offensive and outgoing at times, but other times she remained close-mouthed, resolving to staring evilly at anyone who passed by. But the matter of Draco had always been a different subject. Being in his presence terrified her and talking to him was just plain horrific. I knew it had taken all her strength to question him back on the train. We all didn't look into much, but we suspected she was shy around him because of who he was and the family he belonged to. Or at least, she used to be shy with him. Now, however, she was contradicting herself greatly.  
  
I turned back to her, trying to figure out what had happened to the Blaise we all knew.  
  
"I'm decent," Draco replied monotonously, his answer reflecting the confusion on his face. Blaise's lips curled into a seducing smile.  
  
"I'd say you're more than decent," she answered, boring her eyes into his. I heard a strangled noise from behind and Greg, Vince and I both saw as Millicent choked on her water, trying not to spit it out over the carpet. The three of us fought to sustain our laughter, as it seemed that no one else had noticed Millicent's performance.  
  
I abandoned Blaise and walked to her side, slapping her on the back as she tried to obtain air. "What was that for," I hissed in her ear, still giggling silently with Crabbe and Goyle. I looked up and saw Marcus and Malcolm stepping forward and greeting Blaise. They hadn't seemed to show this much enthusiasm for any one else before hand but hey, who could blame them?  
  
"Was it just me, or did Red over there just give Draco a line?" she managed to get out between silent hysteria and momentary gagging. The four of us broke into laughter then, earning smug looks from Baddock, Flint and Blaise who had all moved over to the sofa.  
  
Still laughing, I sat down on the arm of Greg's chair as Millie placed her glass on the mantelpiece and stood by the fire. At that moment I forgot why I hadn't wanted to come. It felt good to be back amongst the people I knew; the people I called friends. The laughter we shared was almost enough to push out thoughts of Mr. Malfoy and my fear.  
  
Soon enough, all of us had gone back to quiet conversations, my worries leveling out as I fell back into social mode. Crabbe and Goyle had engaged me in quite an entertaining conversation about an incident that happened to them in third year up at the Shrieking Shack. It involved flying mud, Weasley laughing and Potter's head floating out of no where. I didn't really believe anything they said, after all, it was Crabbe and Goyle, but it felt good to laugh with them. I had usually taken the two boys for granted, but from what had happened to me and what I was dreading, I didn't mind them so much. Most of their grunts and guffaws made sense to me anyway.  
  
Millicent, however, wanting to be the speaker than the listener, moved over to feeble little Graham in the corner. He was staring at Blaise in a kind of awe, not even noticing when Millicent came up to him. But when she had clapped him on the back in greeting and began teasing him about Blaise silently, he looked to her, smiling at her friendliness yet turning red from either embarrassment or Millicent hitting him.  
  
Over on the sofa, Flint and Baddock were in a heated conversation over Quidditch, each trying to coax Blaise to agree with either one or the other. I couldn't help but snort as Malcolm attempted to persuade her by explaining the pros and cons of the Irish National Team to the United French League. Blaise knew as much about Quidditch as I cared for Neville Longbottom; less even.  
  
The only one who didn't appear to be having a good time, however, seemed to be our dear host. Draco remained in his shadowed area, eyes wandering and his posture slowly failing. But-no, his eyes weren't wandering; they were locked onto something, locked onto me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring discreetly at me, his arms still in his pockets and his head still slightly bent. It was a bit unexpected, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Knowing that he was looking at me made me feel safe, like a guardian angel watching over their charge.  
  
I looked back at him and smiled. He didn't return the smile, but slowly nodded. It was a kind gesture by his standards and it was enough for me. But I noticed from the side that Blaise's attention had been torn away from the Quidditch argument to Draco and me. I could see her bright green eyes darting from my face to his, an emotion present there that I hadn't noticed before. Pushing her strange behavior aside, I returned to the boys, catching their last attempt to figure out the mystery of our Second Year Christmas. It had something to do with drugged cakes and a broom closet, and I decided that I didn't want to know the whole story.  
  
It was only a few minutes later when Millicent's full, echoing laughter broke the silent buzz of quiet conversation. No one really acknowledged it, but I turned around on the armrest to see what was so funny. Millie was laughing heartily, thumping Graham's back as she doubled over in laughter. The poor boy looked close to fainting.  
  
"Ah Pritchard," Millicent answered, calming down and shaking her head. "I can't believe you. Blaise isn't anything to be worried about; the girl is as dainty as a flower and twice as harmless. She can't even ride a broom!" She turned to me and pointed at him, grinning broadly. "Go on and ask Pansy as well, she'll tell you a mouth full on Zabini. The girl's a pushover."  
  
I cleared my throat, aware that Malcolm was listening now and turning my way. "I really couldn't say anything about Blaise that could justify her," I answered, hoping I sounded neutral. The conversation had attracted everyone in the room now, even Draco and Blaise herself, who had mysteriously made her way over to him and was practically crawling on him. I laughed silently, her actions amusing me.  
  
"Aw, come on," Millie joked, unable to keep a straight face. She looked at Blaise from across the room, her attitude friendly and cheery. "It's true though, that this dame is no stronger than a treacle tart, but she's got one lashing tongue. Say one thing to her, she'll kill you with her words. Just a little harlot with glares though."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle laughed along with Malcolm who really couldn't help himself. I tried not to, but in all honesty, if Millicent couldn't get a snort out of you, no one could. Blaise, however, seemed utterly offended by Millicent's rants about her. I couldn't recall a time when her cheeks flushed so noticeably and she raised her chin in defiance, glaring maliciously at Millie.  
  
"There!" Millicent cried, pointing at Blaise and laughing harder. "That's an evil eye, that one. Use that on a Hufflepuff and you'll be sweeping away smoking ashes in no time."  
  
"That's enough now, Bulstrode," Blaise injected, her voice fierce yet quiet. "I don't want you talking about me."  
  
Millicent stopped laughing but kept looking at Blaise good-naturedly. "What's wrong with you Red? A few weeks to fill yourself out and you think you're higher than any of us?"  
  
That was the breaking point for everyone. Vince was laughing so hard he literally couldn't breathe and Greg was slamming the chair as he fought for air. Malcolm let out one big 'ha' before he could close his mouth and even Flint couldn't help releasing a few little growls of amusement himself. Even Draco grinned; a huge, very natural grin as he leaned his head back against the wall and winked at Millicent. She took his congratulations and bowed theatrically.  
  
The subject of our delight, on the other hand, did not take this comment as well.  
  
"Stuff it, Millicent, or you'll find this lashing tongue will give you a few well-placed thrashes," Blaise hissed, her anger prominent now. The boys let out a low 'oh' as they looked from Blaise to Millicent. Draco and I remained quiet.  
  
"I don't know what's gotten into you lately Blaise, but I'm not exactly fond of it. Besides, what can you say that will hurt me? You've got nothing." Millie crossed her arms and grinned at Blaise, her defense launched. It was true; no one had anything on Millicent. It was either the girl's implausibly clean record, (by pureblood principles), and no one would be stupid enough to black mail her. It was *Millicent Bulstrode*; six foot two Millie with her shoulder-length brown hair and her muscular frame. She was the essence of physical power.  
  
But Blaise seemed to have overlooked these vital pieces of information, because what she said next was completely out of line, no matter what family or house or species you belonged to.  
  
"Oh really?" she hissed, an evil glint in her eyes. "Well, innocent little Millie's got nothing to hide does she?" Millicent nodded, perfectly confident. "Well, if you put it that way then I guess you're right. Hmm.but that doesn't make much sense, now does it? I mean, if you've no secrets, what's the deal with your father?"  
  
Never before, in the history of time, has anyone ever seen the color drain from a Bulstrodes face faster than Millicent's and the grin simply fall away to be replaced with unbelievable fear.  
  
"So that's the spot then, isn't it? You don't want anyone to know about your father. I would have thought so." Blaise crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side in accomplishment.  
  
Marcus, being the absolute moron that he is, asked, "What about her father?"  
  
Blaise looked to him, then back to the slowly angering face of Millicent.  
  
"Don't say a word," she hissed from across the room, her hands in fists. Like the viper of a girl would listen.  
  
"'What about her father', you ask?" Blaise began; her voice cold, stiff and pleased. "Hasn't it ever occurred to any of you why Millicent is always sickeningly neutral and even humorous at times? Don't you ever wonder why she looks the way she does when her parents, the lovely Gertrude Denise Contegall and the handsome Bryce Earnest Bulstrode, look nothing like her?"  
  
"Don't," was all Millie could say in reply, too scared and too furious to do anything else.  
  
"Her father beat her," Blaise finally said, a manic smile curling her red lips. "He hated the way she looked, bizarre and grotesque, the exact opposite of her parents. When he came home after a very violent Death Eater meeting, he'd beat the hell out of her, screaming how horrid she looked and how he wished she was never born. Our dear Millicent here never wanted us to know though; it would kill her ego too much. She didn't want the truth of how she looked to be expressed by the only people she cared about. Besides, if your own father can't love you, why should anyone else?"  
  
There are only two things in the world that can get Millicent Bulstrode angry. One, if you belong to a different house. This explains her crude behavior at the Duel Club in second year when she caught the Mudblood in a headlock. Millicent hates anyone who isn't a Slytherin, and she puts on the pretense of big, dumb and menacing when she's around any of them. It's her tactic of striking fear and provoking fights.  
  
The second thing is if you insult her.  
  
Everyone called Millie ugly, disgusting, revolting and hideous. They say she was dumb and illiterate, and that she wasn't even decent enough to pass as a flobberworm. Now, in my opinion, none of this is true. She may not have been beauty of the year, nor was she the cleverest little devil to graze Hogwarts's halls. But that didn't mean she had no credit to her stature.  
  
To understand Millicent, you'd have to take a long, hard look at her. After that, you'd be able to point out the deep handsomeness of her face, her flawless brown hair, and her magnificent height. When she spoke to you she presented herself as an educated scholar, not exactly valedictorian, but clever enough for the senses. And when you took the time to know her, she could be kind; but only when she wanted to.  
  
And Millie knew all this; yet she also knew that everything else said about her, everything bad, was true as well. It was her fear and her haunting.  
  
And Blaise had hit the mother load of hate.  
  
It wasn't receiving the news on Millicent's father that shocked us, all of us; but more of the fact that Blaise had said it at all. A pureblood never downsized a fellow ancient line such as she had done. I mean, every last one of us hated the Weasleys, but we could only go so far as the hurtful teasing, none of us could express something as personal as that. Getting them fired and thrown onto the streets, yes; but personal tribulations, sacred ground.  
  
It was maybe a split second before anything happened. The dull surprise of what had been revealed still lingered heavy in the air, the fire doing nothing to warm the sudden cold. I had only enough time to even ponder revenge on Blaise for what she had done before there was a flash of grey and screams began to erupt in the parlor.  
  
Millicent had launched herself across the room, her legs powerful enough that one jump was adequate to squash Blaise. The red-haired imbecile, however, wasn't exactly sharp enough to get out of the way. But, thanks to her knight-in-ugly-armor- Flint, she was shoved to the side in the nick of time. Flint, nonetheless, was pulverized.  
  
As fast as my legs would carry me I rushed to Millicent's side and helped her up, sort of stepping on Marcus as I did so. I tried holding my best friend back, but let's face it, I was an ant trying to shove a mountain.  
  
"Millie, she's only doing this to get to you," I cried over her shouts and Blaise's. "She's trying to get a rise so she has a reason to hurt you!"  
  
"What are you on about Pansy? She can't hurt me if I kill her!" Millicent bellowed, surging forward once more. Blaise quickly abandoned her enraged cries and backed away to avoid being tackled again. I noticed as she pretended to trip and land in Draco's arms. Sadly for her, Draco dropped her. On purpose.  
  
"Millicent!" I pushed her back forcibly by her arm. My voice was so strong and solid that it stopped her struggles against Vince, Malcolm and I and she stared down into my face. When I spoke next it was firm and powerful, though I did not raise my voice above normal tone. "You know the consequences awaiting every one of us if we provoke a fight within our own circle. Don't seal yourself a fate that was granted unto me."  
  
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Draco, who had leaned over and whispered something to Blaise, look abruptly at me. The remembrance of the incident in his movements made me flash back into the darkness, but I pushed that aside, focusing on what was happening right here and now. Blaise, pissed at the prospect of Draco looking at me and not her, threw her arms around his neck in attempts to regain her footing. Unconsciously, Draco shoved her away and she tripped onto the sofa.  
  
"Pansy," Millicent whispered, the sound of pain so foreign in her voice that it made me catch my breath. "No one was supposed to know about my father!"  
  
My free hand clenched into a tight fist. "I know," I replied. Millicent sighed heavily.  
  
"I couldn't tell you either. I didn't want anyone to know that my father was a bastard; there are already so many stupid assumptions about me. Daughter of a bastard must be one too, right?"  
  
"But massacring Blaise won't give you back your justice."  
  
She only growled and shot Blaise a look of pure venom. "But it'll give me her blood." And she wasn't joking either. When Millicent wanted to pound you, she wanted to *pound* you.  
  
"And then what?" I demanded, tightening my grip on her arm. "You leave Blaise within an inch of her death and our parents will punish you far worse. If you don't care what happens to you, think of your mother. She'd be crushed."  
  
It looked as though I had finally convinced Millie to calm down and leave it be, but here came the sad excuse for a girl to come and stir the dragon once more. Draco dormiens nunquam titallandus.  
  
"That's right Bulstrode," she began, sitting up from the sofa and brushing her hair out of her face. "Think of your mother, the woman who stood to the side as you cried and screamed for her to make your father stop. You know that she wanted to strike you just as much as he did, she just never had the nerve."  
  
"You know, you really need to learn when to just stop," Draco whispered from the side, though he didn't sound like he cared if the girl died. In fact, neither did I anymore, for that matter. She had had an opportunity to shut the hell up and she didn't take it. Let her fight her own battles from now on then.  
  
"Okay, she's just gone too far now. Go on, go on; it doesn't matter to me anymore. Go damn her soul for all I care." I let go of Millie and she didn't need telling twice. She charged for Blaise again, though this time the idiot got the hint and tried to run away.  
  
And that is how we ended up as we were. I was trapped sitting in front of the fire while Millicent attempted to rip out every hair on Blaise's head and braid it into a rope to hang her by. Don't look at me like that, those were her exact words.  
  
But right when the riot was reaching its climax and I was about to get in there and kill Blaise off myself to save Millicent the trouble, the servant walked back in. He didn't say anything to recognize the chaos; he only cleared his throat again and announced dinner.  
  
It was a miracle if ever I saw one. With only a few well said words from Draco, everyone returned to calmer water and filed out of the parlor. Blaise had quickly straightened out her robes and hair while Millicent disregarded her looks as she tried to hurl a chair at the other girl's retreating back. By Draco's command, Gregory walked up to her, forced the chair out of her hands and pushed her out the door, all with a very confused face, as if he wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.  
  
I was last to leave the room. I still didn't want to go to dinner, to see the same horrid face that I feared when I was little as I feared it now.  
  
"Don't worry," Draco whispered in my ear, coming up behind me quickly and taking hold of my wrist. "You're staying with me."  
  
Relief swept over me as he led me out the doors and into the huge dining room. The table was ridiculously long, almost reaching the lengths of the House tables back at school. It was customary for the Head of the House and the Guest in Question to seat at or near the head of the table; lucky for us, Lucius Malfoy was both. His wife was sitting to the right and the next highest guest would be to his left.  
  
Draco, however, was obligated to sit at the other end of the table, symmetrical to his father. Other guests and their heirs or heiresses could either sit with one another, or go by rank at their end of the table.  
  
Without even asking me or regarding my reactions, Draco led me to the chair to the right of his and pulled it out for me. I didn't need him to say a thing. I quickly sat down as he pushed me in, taking his stand at the end of the table. I looked up to see where the others were sitting and I noticed my mother placed next to Narcissa. This was odd, seeing as Madame Pritchard, being the newest recruit, would have that honor.  
  
Shrugging it off, I returned my attention back to our end. Millicent had taken her seat next to me and Baddock sat next to her. I could tell she was still fuming and that she'd be stiff and irritable for the rest of the night.  
  
Turning to see where the other component to the mayhem was, I found her passing Draco with wistful eyes. She was heading for the seat across from mine, but the servant was already seating young Graham into it. Scowling at them both, she had to resolve to sitting farthest from us, next to Vince. She looked positively disgusted.  
  
Then a bell was rung and the silent chatter died away instantly. A woman dressed in clean white and black robes entered the room and said, "I am pleased to announce the arrival of Master Lucius Malfoy, current holder of the Malfoy fortune, and fourth descending heir to Acollon Malfoy." She bowed low and, as she did so, the huge double doors were opened once more and in he walked, dignity, regality and smugness shining as bright as ever.  
  
Click went the sound of his shoes, thud echoed the crash of his cane on marble, and swish whispered the din of his robes. I didn't look up, couldn't look up. Everyone had rose to their feet, (except Draco whose obligation was to not sit till his father greeted him), and was staring at him as he came closer, all their chests thrown out and heads held high. But not mine. I kept mine neutral, staring at the space behind him, almost daring myself to look him in his eyes and scowl.  
  
He didn't notice me however; in fact, he didn't seem to notice anyone. He headed straight for Draco, looking down at his son when they were only five inches apart. There was a momentary silence and then Lucius leaned forward and whispered something in Draco's ear. The muscles in his shoulders clenched and his fingers twitched, itching to lock themselves into a fist. Whatever it was his father was telling him, it wasn't good.  
  
Before he walked away he kissed Draco on the head, as was custom, and then proceeded to his seat. When he sat we all did, and then the conversations were turned on once more.  
  
But I couldn't talk. All I could do was sit there and stare at Draco, wondering how he could look even worse than before in only a span of eight seconds.  
  
*Draco*  
  
I didn't want to go to the dinner. I wanted to lock myself in my room, wedge myself in the dark corner at the back of my closet and wait the dinner out, as I had done countless times before when I was little. But of course, my mother would have no such thing and demanded that I attend. Even when I tried to explain that I was ill beyond reason she only responded with the same speech on how it was customary for the heir to be present and that my father would love for me to be there.  
  
I was about to tell her that her last statement wasn't a winning argument, but one look from her eye shut me up and got me dressed. Later that night I found myself practically dying in the parlor as Millicent droned on and on about her summer. Honestly, how much can one person do in less than two weeks?  
  
I had taken refuge in a corner afraid that, were I to sit down, I'd fall directly to sleep and never wake again. My stomach churned, my head throbbed, I could feel the heat of fever burn within me and the numbness of cold enclose around me. I closed my eyes to the parlor, hoping the whirling sensation taking over me would just stop and let me suffer peacefully.  
  
But at one point in my rippling haze of sickness I heard one of the servants announcing someone's name and then leaving. In his wake was none other than Pansy, still pale and slightly shaken though looking far better than when we had last seen each other.  
  
And she was smiling; that was one of the first things I noticed differently about her. Millicent had said something to her and she smiled weakly, though it was a smile nonetheless. I almost couldn't remember seeing her smile, and the thought occupied me until I realized I was saying something to her.  
  
"You look fine," was my reply, thought I really wasn't sure what I had just commented on. She looked at me.  
  
"Thanks," she said. Then she was in front of me, leaving Millicent behind to jabber with Crabbe and Goyle. As she came near I caught the sweet smell of lavender and rosemary. It filled my senses and cleared my vision slightly. I inspected her closer this time and noticed she was wearing bright blue, an odd choice for the circumstances of this evening; but I let it go.  
  
"You're ill," she said to me, looking up into my face. I wanted so much to cry out yes and fall into the chair beside me, let her care for me and feel her hand on my skin, but I didn't. Instead I just shrugged, shoving my hands into my pockets to prevent myself from holding her hand or touching her hair.  
  
"I'm alright," I said. "The question here is, are you okay?"  
  
"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" she asked, staring at me.  
  
"Because I saved you," I replied. And I wasn't joking. Even at that moment I couldn't let the thoughts of that spell out of my mind. What if I had done it wrong? What if I *did* do it wrong? Is something happening inside of her that I caused? Is my sickness actually a slow working process of the consequences involving Beula Dormiens? And what if this dinner would be too much for her, would she collapse any minute?  
  
"Exactly why I'm perfectly alright," she said. I stared at her, not believing the words that had come from her.  
  
She trusted me. She had put her trust in me that I had done everything right and that I need not worry. It warmed my heart and yet froze it solid.  
  
"Is your father here--,"  
  
"I don't want to talk about my father," I replied automatically. She fell silent though she wasn't at all offended. Together we shared a rage directed for my father, though hers was more fear whilst mine was pure revenge. We were silent then, letting Millicent's voice wash over everything. Then she leaned her forehead against my shoulder and clutched my shirt, the fear of meeting her impending murderer of a man she had known most of her life reflecting every move she made. Very slowly I placed a hand on the small of her back, holding her to me with great care. Seeing her so afraid hurt more than anything I had known before.  
  
But then the moment was broken as the parlor door slid back open and the man who had been brutally folded up last night stood in the entrance. Pansy had pulled away from me now to see who had come, though she still stayed closed, her back barely grazing my chest.  
  
When the servant had finished his announcement he bowed out extravagantly and left us with Blaise, although it wasn't the Blaise any of us had known before. Everyone sort of gasped but I thought that was a bit of an inappropriate reaction. If anything, we were all much more confused than surprised.  
  
She had gotten prettier, I guess. Her hair was redder, her skin was fairer, and her form was more noticeable, but other than that she seemed more or less the same. What struck me as truly odd was the way she presented herself.  
  
Zabini was afraid, a trait recognizable to anyone with eyes. Sure she had one hell of an attitude when you provoked her enough and yes, her glares could cut steel, but other than that the girl was a coward. She'd never had the confidence Pansy had when it came to the things we did. Maybe Pansy never really had much fun in mocking Potter as I had, but she never hesitated to show her support. Blaise would simply fall back to feeble smirking and dodgy glares.  
  
But now.Now she held herself with enough confidence to spare. She sauntered into the room, her alluring robes brushing behind her. Everyone was impressed, to judge by their reactions, but I was confused. What had caused this strange metamorphosis?  
  
"Blaise," Pansy cried, rushing to meet her. "You look amazing."  
  
Blaise barely noticed her. "Why thank you," she replied, though her eyes barely lingered on her before they looked past hers and into mine. I stared back, not exactly appreciative at her behavior towards Pansy. "Good evening to you, Draco. And how have you been?"  
  
I was sick, I felt sick, and I looked sick. Everyone in the parlor could tell I was ill. Needless to say, her question was beyond stupid in my book and my intentions to greet her in any way were disintegrated due to her lack of observation and my growing petulance.  
  
"I'm decent," I replied, not in the mood to emphasize on my point. And neither was the prospect of engaging her in much conversation appealing either. She was looking at me in an odd way, a way I wasn't exactly comfortable with. She responded in some way, one that was a bit provocative and very much not to my taste, and it also made Millicent choke on her water. Women.  
  
Discussions broke off then, everyone falling into their own cliques. But I stayed where I was, remaining as the ever silent host; a ghost watcher taking care of his charges, no matter how pathetic. But as I looked around the room, I found my eyes always tracing their way back to Pansy.  
  
It was paranoia if I ever saw it. I was constantly checking her; was her skin too pale? Her eyes a bit unfocused? She leaned back against the backrest of Goyle's seat and smiled as the two continued with their stories. Was she tired? Was she faint? Would she pass out?  
  
I took a deep breath then, calming my nerves. She was fine; she was finer than ever and was enjoying an evening with people she knew, people who were her friends. I looked back at her, sweat drenching my back. Was it from stress or from fever?  
  
And now she was looking back at me and smiling. I sucked in a breath, determined not to show my struggle. If she could be here after eleven days of near-death coma, then I could certainly withstand being here during one, meager virus.  
  
She waved to me and I nodded in turn; that small action alone causing a wave of dizziness to overtake me. She looked away then and so did I, a bland taste erupting in my mouth. Was it bile or blood? I couldn't make out the difference. I had half decided to excuse myself out of there and grab a drink from one of the servants, but before I could move Blaise was in front of me, blocking my way.  
  
"Hello again, host," she said calmly. I took a deep breath and almost choked on it; the fragrance she was wearing was intoxicating, and it seemed she had bathed in the vile poison. I took a step back and hit the wall, wishing I could just push her away and disregard the rudeness of the action. I wasn't an expert on the matter, but I was pretty sure girls weren't supposed to smell like rubbing alcohol, dead blossoms and propylene carbonate.  
  
"Hey," was all I could force out, coughing on her scent. She smiled at me and patted me on the back, her less than weak motions doing nothing to help me. I pushed her hand away gently. "That's alright; I'm okay."  
  
"So I take it you and our dear Pansy over here are on good terms once more?" she asked, throwing her red hair over her shoulder. I nodded, trying to suppress a yawn.  
  
"Yes. We settled our differences."  
  
She was still smiling after I said this, though it looked a little more forced now. "Oh, well that's always good news."  
  
"Right," I replied, not very enlightened by this encounter yet far too civil to tell her to get lost and leave me to my torment. Damn that stupid pureblood handbook.  
  
"Look," she suddenly said, stepping closer to me. I backed away from her and up against the wall. Not a good choice, as she was now leaning against me and looking into my face. "You seem very ill. I'm not sure that this is the right scenario for you to recover in."  
  
"Can't argue there," I said dully. She tilted her head at me and brought her hands to my face, her touch cold and inviting on my feverish brow. It would have been easy to melt into her touch, but there was something missing in it; and that something was Pansy.  
  
She grinned at my reaction. "Would you like to me to take care of you?" she offered. I answered her before she could properly finish her sentence.  
  
"No."  
  
"Your loss then," she whispered, and backed away so I could stand comfortably. There would have been an odd silence that would have followed had it not been for Millicent's audible chatter and her resounding laugh throughout the parlor.  
  
"Go on and ask Pansy as well, she'll tell you a mouth full on Zabini. The girl's a pushover." Millicent had young Graham pinned to her side and was looking joyously at Pansy. Pansy, however, didn't seem to want to be in the spotlight. She cleared her throat weakly, looking nervously around herself.  
  
"I really couldn't say anything about Blaise that could justify her," she replied, aware that everyone in the room was listening to her. She shot me and Blaise a glance and I could have sworn a smile of amusement had played across her face.  
  
I was so occupied on why Pansy had looked at us like that that I had toned out until Millicent's words broke through my stupor.  
  
"What's wrong with you Red? A few weeks to fill yourself out and you think you're higher than any of us?"  
  
And that was it. For the first time that night I grinned. I mean full out humorous grin and my head didn't even hurt either. I leaned back against the wall and chanced it; I winked at her. And by the smile that caught her lips I could tell she was proud. Leave it to Millicent to strike where you're weakest.  
  
But then something terrible happened. Right now I can't really recall what Blaise had said in response, but in no time the discussion had turned over to Millicent's father. It was an area we never explored before, as Millicent wasn't one to reveal her personal life over hot chocolate and pow wows.  
  
"What about her father?" Marcus asked. Even though I had only caught tidbits of the argument I knew that that question had just guaranteed us bloodshed.  
  
"Don't say a word," Millicent hissed from across the room. Blaise's hand clenched at her side nervously, but her facial expression did not betray her.  
  
"'What about her father', you ask? Hasn't it ever occurred to any of you why Millicent is always sickeningly neutral and even humorous at times? Don't you ever wonder why she looks the way she does when her parents, the lovely Gertrude Denise Contegall and the handsome Bryce Earnest Bulstrode, look nothing like her?"  
  
"Don't." But not even Millicent could stop Blaise now.  
  
"Her father beat her. He hated the way she looked, bizarre and grotesque, the exact opposite of her parents. When he came home after a very violent Death Eater meeting, he'd beat the hell out of her, screaming how horrid she looked and how he wished she was never born. Our dear Millicent here never wanted us to know though; it would kill her ego too much. She didn't want the truth of how she looked to be expressed by the only people she cared about. Besides, if your own father can't love you, why should anyone else?"  
  
And then I saw it at work. The heavy flush of embarrassment washed over Millicent, only to be replaced by the burgundy of hatred. Her jaw tightened, her shoulders hunched and her hands were shaking so hard that she couldn't even pull them into fists. But I was smart. Even before anyone could comprehend the line that Blaise had crossed I was already inching away to the other side of the fireplace, knowing that being within three feet of Blaise would be hazardous to my health.  
  
Sure enough and as if on cue, Millicent came flying across the room, eyes blazing fire and hair flying around her face. I had almost time to ponder how much damage she could do to Blaise when Flint dove for her and pushed her to safety. Needless to say Flint was pulverized.  
  
Blaise was thrown practically at my feet, her dress wrinkled and her gold hairclip getting lost somewhere in the fiery tangles. I stepped back again, not wanting to dirty my own robes. I knew I should have helped her up, but the mixture of what she had done and her deafening shouts of defense held me where I stood.  
  
Pansy had rushed over to calm Millicent, but the girl was obviously ticked and she lunged once more. Blaise, in an act of surprise, tripped over herself and fell towards me. Her fingers closed around my cloak and her face fell onto my chest but I couldn't help it; she had come so suddenly and I wasn't exactly the catching type. I held out my arms for her.and then dropped her. And even though this isn't something I should be saying, I'm not so sure that none of it was on accident.  
  
"Sorry," I said to her, leaning forward and offering her a lethargic hand. She took it and looked into my eyes.  
  
"That's quite alright," she said breathlessly. I frowned at her.  
  
"But I dropped you."  
  
"No harm done."  
  
I shrugged. "Right."  
  
Then Pansy's words caught my ear and I glanced at her, her words bringing back everything. Her dark room, her sleeping form, the potion vial. And in that instant Blaise had thrown herself at me once more, looping her arms around me. In surprise I leaned back and sucked in a ridiculous amount of her burning fragrance. It was so despicable and repulsive that I pushed her away only hard enough so she fell into a sofa. I was gasping for air, my own struggles unnoticed by the greater mayhem. If Blaise wasn't going to die from a pounding then surely I would take that duty from her airborne poison.  
  
But as I was regaining my composure something amazing happened. When the dragon had been calmed and the victim, (who had started the rage in the first place), was safe, she went for the red flag and stirred up trouble once more. It was either very stupid or very brave; and since thick bravery, (meaning Potter), was a low in my book, I would have laughed at her words had I not been plagued with such an illness.  
  
And I even informed her that she should have ceased.  
  
But the fight raged on and soon it was heading for worse. The only reason I attempted to calm everyone was because they were giving me a headache. But at the moment Millicent skirted around Malcolm and had her hands on Blaise's neck, the servant returned to call us for dinner.  
  
All I needed to say was 'stop or I'll hex you all' and everyone fell silent. When they had left the parlor I grabbed Pansy and led her to the dining room. She didn't seem to mind at all, but I needed her beside me for either my reasons of watching or knowing that she was next to me. And then I waited. I waited, standing next to my chair with my heart pounding in my chest. I'd see my father again.  
  
Far too soon the maid entered and announced. I barely heard a word and I didn't even notice everyone standing and bowing their heads; my eyes were locked on the door and I held my breath as it opened.  
  
Click went the sound of his shoes, thud echoed the crash of his cane on marble, and swish whispered the din of his robes. His own eyes stared into mine alone, grey against grey and determination against dull fear. Then they flicked to my right, the motion so quick and unbelievably fast that it was completely unnoticeable. When he reached me we stared at each other, impassive and inexpressive. For a moment I thought he was just going to hold my stare and then move on to his seat; but he didn't.  
  
He leaned forward then, towards my ear. I braced myself.  
  
"And the irony keeps on coming," he whispered, his tone pleased. I didn't say a word. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Well, that isn't exactly the clever son I had come to know. Ah well, I guess that's why you have a father, to point out the details to you.  
  
"I see our dear Pansy is still alive; alive and well. But you.oh, the consequence is far too great to leave hanging. You performed Dark Magic. Beula Dormiens. Have you no mind? The tables have not been eliminated, they have been turned."  
  
My heart stopped.  
  
"Let's do something this weekend. It may as well be your last."  
  
Damn. Damn. Damn. 


	11. The Way We Lie For Love

A/N: Here's a quick author's note to all my reviewers.  
  
I just wanted to say thanks to epicyclical and amazon-princezz for critiquing my fic wonderfully. Thanks to amazon-princezz for showing me those words mistakes in the last chapter. I looked back and fixed them, and I will try and repost it as soon as possible.  
  
And I did notice that I used 'intoxicating' in the wrong use. I noticed the minute I posted chapter ten and then resolved to just fix it in the morning. But, low and behold, I got sick the next morning and have been sick since. It's that illness where you're well enough not to stay in bed but ailing enough to be suffering horribly at school. Basically I'm feeling what Draco's feeling. We share a common bond of torment.  
  
But anyway, thanks to you guys for reviewing and I'll watch out for more mistakes as I write. So enjoy this chapter while I go downstairs, take my medication and drag myself to my bed where I shall sleep for a fortnight and a half. A tout a l'heure! (accent grave over the a) =P  
  
Chapter Eleven ~ The Way We Lie For Love  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I know that Draco is not exactly the 'happiest little soul on the planet', and that he usually is found sulking for one reason or another; but tonight was just odd. For the beginning of the dinner he kept his head low, not saying anything to anyone and ignoring all of us if we spoke to him. Even when Millicent reached over and whacked him on the shoulder he still didn't look up or move in the slightest. He simply closed his eyes, counted silently to ten, and then opened them again.  
  
So I left him alone.  
  
I chatted with Millie, I offered the subtle alliance of friendship to Graham, and I even got the chance to flash Blaise a smile, returning one back in full force. And though my eyes constantly strayed to Draco, I kept my mouth shut. Something was ricocheting inside his mind and, being one who has had the chaos of thoughts beforehand, I knew he only wanted to be abandoned in the quiet of his thoughts.  
  
But this, on its own part, was difficult. I had suddenly been accustomed to having him tell me everything he is thinking and knowing that he was keeping something from me left a gap in my heart that had nothing to do with being offended.  
  
*Draco*  
  
People say they hate their parents or that they wish they could just run away and never come home.  
  
"Sometimes I just want to kill them," they might say; but we all know that it never really turns out like that-in some cases, at least.  
  
But I couldn't kill my parents. That was an impossible task and by all means the gravest sin you could commit to family honor. And I could not run away because, even though it would shame their name, it would shame mine as well, and honor would once again find its way away from me. Besides, how far can a dying soul get to before they expire?  
  
And, although this is remarkable to even my own ears, I cannot hate them either. I wish I could hate my mother for agreeing to my father's deranged ways, but I can't. In the past years she has done little against my own will, wishing for only obedience and respect as my payment back. She is not a mother to be easily loved, but she is a mother, and mine in the standing as well.  
  
But I cannot hate my father either. I cannot hate this senseless murderer sitting right before my eyes, talking strictly with his wife, his colleagues, and even Mrs. Parkinson with not so much as sheer boredom hiding his true emotions. I cannot hate this man who has taught me to always look down upon others, to always remember that I am pure in blood and a Malfoy, and that if I would just dedicate myself, I could own the world.  
  
I cannot hate this man who has also sacrificed my childhood for the sake of serving his master. He had pushed me away when I cried once after I fell off my first broom and landed on the spear-tipped fence, piercing my back enough to obtain a serious wound. I came to him first, limping into his study with the red of my blood soaking through my shirt. I was scared and asked him what I should do. He pushed me aside, saying he was busy. He told me I had to be a man and deal with things on my own. My mother found me and rushed me to the hospital, where the Healers restored me yet ignored my constant stream of questions on why my father didn't care if I was hurt.  
  
All of this, all these questions, all these memories and all these emotions, were fighting for dominance in my mind. I could barely see the scenery before me, for my eyes were turned in to the battle raging in my brain. I *did* do the spell wrong; I failed to perform it to its highest potential and precise accuracy. I'm dying.  
  
Right when these words hit me with full force something else did as well. I felt a strong blow to the side of my arm and found that Millicent was trying to get my attention. Wasn't it obvious that I wanted to be left alone?  
  
I was ready to burst, to scream and shout and throw a tantrum right then and there. "I'm dying!" I'd scream, cursing everything in sight. "I'm dying and no one gives a damn about it! And it was my bastard father who did this to me."  
  
But of course, a tantrum would be of no help to anyone, especially me. So I simply closed my eyes, took a deep breath, counted slowly to ten, and then opened them again, ignoring Millicent's voice. Finally she took the hint that I was serious in my seclusion and let me be.  
  
When it had already been three hours since we entered the dining hall and the dinner seemed as if it wouldn't be ending anytime soon, I conceived a plan to rid myself of this torture. I was going to merely excuse myself from the table and play the coward by stowing away in my room. My parents would hardly notice my absence and it would be embarrassing for them to go upstairs and retrieve me.  
  
Yet before I could even utter a word a terrible spasm erupted in my chest. I jerked slightly, small enough for no one to notice. But the pain I was experiencing was not unbearable but increasingly annoying. It was almost as if a hand had taken hold of my heart and was tightening its grip on it every second. I coughed once then twice, trying to rid myself of the sensation. Naturally, it stayed with me.  
  
"Excuse me," I muttered to everyone, although Pansy and Graham were the only ones who heard me. I stood up from my chair and grasped its side as I stepped away from the table, the ache in my chest dulling and then rising again.  
  
"Draco, are you alright?" Pansy asked, concerned and frightened. She half stood and reached for me but I pushed her hand away.  
  
"I just need to get out of here," I replied, a bit more hurriedly than I intended it to sound.  
  
She frowned at me. "Draco, how ill are you?" she asked. But I only shook my head, already heading for the doors.  
  
"I'll see you later," I answered, and then rushed out of the dining room and into the hall outside.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I remained concerned for Draco from the moment he fled the hall all the way to farewells and departures an hour later. My mother and I were the last in line to give our regards to the heads of the house. I wasn't sure if this was on purpose or on accident, but I was slightly grateful and slightly afraid. It prolonged our face-to-face encounter with Mr. Malfoy, yet it left us with no others to comfort the meeting. When our turn had come my mother had to give me a gentle push forward.  
  
"Mrs. Malfoy," I said, taking her outstretched, jeweled hand and curtsying over it. "It was a lovely dinner. I thank you for your hospitality."  
  
Or lack thereof, I thought to myself, noting that neither host bore witness to the little disagreement in the parlor.  
  
"I accept your compliment whole-heartedly," she replied, smiling slightly at me. "My blessings go out to you." Then she turned toward my mother, leaving me with Mr. Malfoy.  
  
I curtsied low for him, letting my hair fall over my face so he would not see my fear. When I straightened my eyes caught directly into his. He revealed no flicker of emotion towards me; there was no vengeful stare, no disgusted glare, and no sick, amused look at how I had managed to survive his little gift.  
  
"Thank you," I said rather coldly. He heard my bitterness and tilted his head to the side slightly, analyzing the thoughts that were shining out through my eyes.  
  
"There is no need for your gratitude," he replied, his voice the quiet whisper that he was known for as well as his temper. "I'm afraid it will not last the night." Then he bowed his head towards me and turned to my mother.  
  
And as he regarded her compliments on the dinner I could feel the heat of anger and dread rise up in my veins once more. I hated the Malfoy tactic of elusive speech; the way they could twist your thoughts without saying much. Draco had done it countless times at school. He had taken the wheels in other's heads and turned them the wrong way, making them think the opposite of what was right.  
  
Mr. Malfoy was doing this to me now, having me ponder a coming horror that was not coming at all. Maybe my gratitude would not last the night, but that was over my own head. I hated his slimy arse anyway.  
  
My mother couldn't have taken longer in her goodbye. She hugged Narcissa Malfoy and inclined her head once more to Lucius before I was able to drag her out onto the foyer, pulling the Portkey out of my cloak pocket and holding it tight in my fingers. Yet as we traveled the far distance to our manor I couldn't help but wonder about Draco, and if Mr. Malfoy's words had anything to do with him.  
  
*Draco*  
  
My father was right, the tables have turned. Already I can feel the lull of heavy sleep take over me, ringing high in my ears and pulsing warm in my blood. Every time I look at my bed I want to just lay my head down and close my eyes, but I know that the moment I do, I will never wake up.  
  
So I had to be content with pacing. I had actually walked my room 257 times before anyone came to check on me.  
  
There was a loud knock on the door and then a muffled yet soft voice following it. It was my mother's voice, and she sounded concerned. There is a first for everything after all.  
  
"Draco, what's going on?" she asked. I stopped and looked at the closed entrance, one eyebrow cocked unbelievingly. She knew I was sick, what else could be going on?  
  
"I'm not well," I replied slowly. There was a pause. Then there was a soft click and the door opened, my mother entering into the room.  
  
"What happened to you?" she demanded, her mother intuition kicking in. She looked at me sternly and crossed her arms. I shrugged at her.  
  
"It doesn't matter." But she wasn't going to take this as an answer.  
  
"Don't talk shit to your mother, Draco. What's going on with you? I saw you leave dinner early, but I thought it to be a temporary excuse for a few minutes of fresh air. When you didn't come back I grew suspicious. And now look at you. Your face is flushed, you're sweating, your eyes are unfocused, and you look dreadful. "  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She wasn't pleased. "I'm serious this time."  
  
"Aren't you always?"  
  
Wrong thing to say. She narrowed her eyes, strode up to me, and slapped me smartly across the face. Ouch.  
  
"I said I was serious," she said firmly, her gaze set tightly onto me. I kept my head to the side, closing my eyes as I waited for the stinging pain to subside.  
  
"So you hit me to make a point? You said so yourself that I was sick." I shoved a hand through my hair; a mere action to prevent me from touching my cheek. My mother sighed heavily, one that sounded apprehensive rather than angry. She rubbed her forehead with one hand and blew out another breath; her other hand resting on her hip.  
  
"How did it get like this?" she muttered, loud enough so I could catch every word. "How did it get to the point where we can't even talk to each other anymore?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Tell me you didn't just say that," I said. She looked at me strangely.  
  
"Excuse my sentiment," she replied sarcastically. Waving a hand in response, I turned my back on her and went to sit myself in the winged armchair near my window. Even the small relief of falling onto the cushion seat was enough to calm me to sleep; but the prospect of death and dozing out while my mother was talking held my consciousness.  
  
"I'm sorry to appear rude, mother, but I'm not exactly in a mood to hold a decent conversation. In fact, I'd rather be left alone." I leaned back in my chair and a sudden burst of pain hit me in the chest and then traveled down to my left leg. It was short in coming but the soreness that set in afterward made it hard to move my entire left side. I must have winced noticeably because my mother came to my side, a bit too angry to be worried.  
  
"What's happening now?" she demanded.  
  
I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming out in agony and in irritation. "Pain," was all I was able to muster. That's when I felt my mother's fingers grasp my shoulder and her nails dig into the skin. I looked sharply up at her, her face suddenly filled with worry.  
  
"Draco," she said, quietly and slowly. I waited. "What is happening to you?"  
  
And from the astonishing pleading in her voice, I found the last of my sarcasm and cynical attitude melt away to be replaced with sincerity.  
  
"Mother," I answered, my words more tired than slow. "I'm dying."  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I sat outside under the same tree Draco and I had reclined under the day before I was poisoned. I had intended to go straight to bed and sleep away my troubles until the next day, but sleep was not a place my mind wanted to revisit at the moment. The darkness would be far too terrorizing.  
  
So I had slipped out of my room, down the empty staircase and out through the back door, my black cloak wrapped over my pajamas. Once outside I was able to slow down and breathe in the cool night air. The sound of running water met my ears and I soon found myself under the cherry blossom tree, its sweet fragrance tickling my senses.  
  
I absently reached up and plucked one blossom off of its perch and held it in my fingers. The petals felt like silk under my touch. Smiling, I placed the blossom into the wind, watching as it rode the gallant force and fluttered to rest on the surface of the water. The stream itself was magnificent; the moonbeams casting a silver glow over the water.  
  
Silver.  
  
Already my thoughts had returned to Draco, triggered only by a simple word. The image of his eyes, bright and deadpan, sprang into my mind. But then the vision changed and soon reflected what he probably looked like at this very moment: pained and suffering.  
  
What had happened to him? He was obviously miserable the entire night and the moment he left I knew he couldn't handle being with people anymore. But he couldn't be dangerously sick. That wouldn't play right to what had been going on in the past two weeks. If he was in any kind of trouble he'd tell me; or at least hint at it a little.  
  
And if it had anything to do with Beula Dormiens.  
  
No. Draco knew better than that. I only had a vague view on what Beula Dormiens was, but the affects it had on someone when it was performed poorly was the general punishment enhanced: death with extreme suffering.  
  
And even though he could be targeted as the culprit for many less- than-intelligent actions, he wouldn't be dim enough to withhold the information of his death.  
  
I tore my eyes away from the stream and turned back towards the house; but out of the corner of my eye I saw as the slow flowing stream engulfed the drifting blossom and pulled it to its darkened depths.  
  
*Draco*  
  
She went to speak to my father; probably the worst scenario any teenage boy could endure. Not to mention the fact that females have this strange instinct in them to dominate the world around them and execute any and all who get in the way.  
  
After hearing the more distinct details of my illness, the spell that could save me being Beula Dormiens, and after a few moments of distressed shouts and cries of how stupid I could act at times and how she despised my careless nature, she found it in her to beg my father to save me-that is, if he even knew how. But during her hysteria, I found a speed bump in her rants to ask her why she was so worried. A family belonging to the Dark Lord had to learn how to accept death in all forms and at any time.  
  
But she only stared at me for a very long period of time before she said, "That doesn't erase the fact that you're my son," and then stormed out of my room saying she'd speak to my father. In my disbelief a sudden thought came to me: unconditional love. Go figure.  
  
I had intended to hear what she had to say; my mind was already creating a way for me to sneak downstairs and snatch a word or two from the parlor. But unfortunately, my body had no intentions to venture so far from the comfort of my chair so I had to settle with waiting for my mother's return.  
  
Only it never came.  
  
For an hour and a half I sat there, waiting for the door to open and my mother to walk in with her wand held high or a goblet clutched tightly in her fist. The pain spasms seemed to have taken a long, leisurely break, for I was able to relax in that hour an a half, leaning my head back against the cushion and temporarily ignoring the dull soreness settling into my muscles.  
  
But when the time had passed for her to return I grew impatient. Paying no attention to the ache, I reached across the armrest and tapped my finger twice on the small, clear globe sitting on my nightstand. It glowed a faint blue, and then a servant appeared at my door. It was one of the many new house-elves our family had required, and I could tell he was all but the newest recruit for his tattered garb was filthy beyond belief.  
  
"Young master," he announced. His voice wasn't the normal squeak of the house-elves. It resembled a high note off key, making me wince. "You called?"  
  
"Go find my mother," I said right away. "She should be in the parlor with the master of the house. If they are drawn in conversation, do not disturb them but listen to everything they say. When they finish, report everything back to me. If there is no conversation, inform Madam Malfoy that her son requests assistance."  
  
The house-elf bowed. "Does master wish for any refreshment? Maybe something to give master some strength?"  
  
"Just get my mum," I answered lazily, waving my hand to dismiss him. He bowed again and then disappeared with the cracking of a whip. I was left alone once more.  
  
Another hour whisked past me and I still had no news. The night had long since been young and now it was bent with age, almost reflecting the way I felt at that moment. I felt suddenly old, tired and useless. I felt that dying at any moment wasn't exactly a punishment but a blessing. The throbbing in my body was painful, and the sleep racking at my brain pleaded for me to let it in. I felt literally detached from my own self, acting as two different parts of mind and body. I felt, above all things, pathetic.  
  
But I was soon pulled from my state of hallucination as the door was opened once more and the elf stood there, positively shaking his self to pieces. He was wringing his hands and staring intently at the floor, an entrance very different from his respectable and confident one earlier.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" I questioned. It was a bit rude, but the small act of unkindness brought back what little life I had left in my spirit. I sat up straighter.  
  
The elf looked sheepishly into my face. "He does not wish to save you," he said in the smallest, faintest voice I had ever heard. I leaned forward in my chair.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Master must not be angry," he began, doing the typical 'elf begging but trying to hide it with flattery and excuses'. "I did only what master asked me to do. But Master Malfoy does not want to save master. He is being strict with madam."  
  
"What?" I asked again, though this time it was edged with anger and excitement rather than confusion.  
  
"Madam is begging Master Malfoy to help master," the elf told me. "She be telling him master is her only heir and his too. I is only hearing a little bit, but Master Malfoy says he don't want to waste such Dark Magic on master." He faltered here. "He is saying that he be saving the Dark Magic for something important."  
  
The house-elf fell silent and stared at the ground. I, myself, held my peace until I dismissed him. He bowed extravagantly to me before disappearing, adding in that I was the kindest and most humble master he had ever served. But they were meaningless words, because even though he was only a lowly magical creature, he knew the cruelty that accompanied his news.  
  
My father didn't care if I died. He had said, very bluntly, that my death was not a good reason for him to perform magic he could do only once in his lifetime.  
  
So I was set to die. I mean, what other alternative did I have? My mother wouldn't perform the spell I needed. Knowing her, she was forbidden by my father or else she didn't have the passion or magical stamina to achieve the required power. I couldn't ask anyone in the manor, for their soul purposes were to serve the man who owned them: my father. And any outside help would be immediately executed because of the wrath of one man: my father.  
  
I could owl Professor Snape, or when the time came that I was desperate enough, Dumbledore as well. They were teachers and the most highly respected wizards of their arts; Beula Dormiens would be of no consequence to them. But the Headmaster wasn't exactly Death Eater of the year and Dark Magic would be strictly prohibited to him. And even if I could get a letter to Professor Snape before I died, it would be hard for him to get to me at all. He had been 'forgiven' by the Dark Lord, but father did not exactly welcome him like the old friends they were nowadays.  
  
My list was growing shorter, pulling a neck and neck race to the time I had left to live. Who else? Who else?  
  
And the name I tried my hardest to avoid sprung clear in my mind. Pansy.  
  
The moment she got wind of my troubles she'd uncover the incantation to Dormiens and save my arse in no time flat. She'd have the passion and the powerful stamina, and the object of an once-in-a-lifetime spell would be of no consideration. She'd actually do it.  
  
But it could still go wrong. It had done so with me.  
  
So she couldn't do it either. In fact, she had to be prevented from discovering the words to Beula Dormiens. Otherwise, she would be saving my life in exchange for her own, and I couldn't let that happen. It was final. I'd die. I had already accepted it in some way or another, but it was no longer my concern. My concern was now Pansy and the fact that, were she to discover my condition, she'd go to any lengths to save me.  
  
Which brought me to pulling myself from my chair and snatching my cloak and portkey and walking out the door. And when I got home late that night I fell directly onto my bed and welcome sleep.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Someone had broken into our house during the night.  
  
I had woken up late in the afternoon, my muscles a little tight from the cold wind blowing into my open window, but it wasn't anything to be worried about.  
  
Wait a minute. Open window?  
  
I sprang up from my bed, snatching my robe off the chair and hurriedly putting in on. I headed for the door but paused and looked back. The window next to my bed was wide open, the curtains rippling softly in the wind. Scared, I reached behind myself for the knob, but when I found it my body froze once more.  
  
I looked back and found that the knob had been blasted right off the door. I touched a finger to the door and it squeaked open at even my slight touch.  
  
Not wasting any time, I bolted out of my room and down the grand staircase.  
  
"Mum!" I cried, looking widely down each floor as I passed it. The oddest thing was that there was no one around. At least two or three servants were already up and working at this time. Five minimum. "Zachary!" I yelled, calling each one by name. "Chloe, Regina! Matthew! Anyone, please. Someone's broken in!"  
  
I reached the second floor and looked to my right where the library and training room was located. I stopped running immediately. All the servants of the house were inside the library, its grand doors thrown open to reveal the chaos inside. Among the dark green garb of staff uniform I saw the swirl of black. It was my mother.  
  
"Mum! Mum!" I called, rushing into the library. But I couldn't get any farther than in the doorway as there were so many people inside already.  
  
"Check the left anteroom, make sure nothing, nothing, is missing. You, top shelf to the right. If those Black volumes are gone.. Zedric, check the stables! Make sure none of the creatures have been harmed." My mother's voice rang out loud and clear over the hum of conversation. She was standing on a table in the middle of the room, pointing this way and that and barking orders at everyone she looked at.  
  
I stared at her for a while before I was pushed against the door frame as a man came hurrying out of the mass of bodies. It was Zedric, most likely on his way to the stables.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked Chloe who was the closest to me. She was pressed against the wall near the door, the skirt of her robes bunched in her hands. She was a tall woman of her late thirties with soft, brown hair that was piled on her head in a bun and almond-shaped glasses. She looked down at me with blue eyes, half scared and half excited.  
  
"There's been a break-in," she told me, taking me by the hand and pulling me into the safety of the hall. "Someone took a portkey right onto our grounds and crept into the library. This morning, when Helena came in for a spell to help tranquilize a hippogriff, she found this entire room ransacked and almost every valuable book thrown across the room. We've been up all morning trying to put everything back into order. Your mother's harassed, making sure nothing has been stolen. But I'm telling you, whoever got in last night was either a very powerful wizard or one hell of a thief. If my guessing is right, he'd have gone for the ancient spoils, hands down." She looked into my worried face then, tilting her head to the side. "You alright, girl? You look flustered."  
  
"He was in my room," I said dully, almost as though my words did not matter. "The knob was blasted off my door and the window was open."  
  
Chloe looked at me with wide-eyes. When she spoke next her voice was high and scared. "He was in your room?" she asked. I nodded. "Bryce, Conner!" Two men came to either side of us in no time. They were twins, with identical black hair and brown eyes. "Get up into the lady's room! The little snake got out through her window!" She seemed very heated over all this, shooing the men until they scurried to do her will. When they had gone she turned back to me, placing her hands on my shoulders.  
  
"Lady, are you alright? Would you like to speak to your mother?"  
  
"Yes," I answered right away, the wheels turning in my mind. Chloe made to take me by the hand, but I pulled away from her grasp. "I'd rather do this on my own," I said to her, returning to my station once more. "I want you to assist the other two in examining my room." My command was a bit harsh and cruel, but I needed her gone. She only nodded and turned to leave, taking no concern in my demanding tone. She recognized me as the noble and herself as the servant.  
  
I returned to the doorway of the library and rose on my toes so I could call out to my mother. But before I even got a chance, another voice rang out from within the depths of the room.  
  
"Madam, the Dassah is missing!"  
  
My mother spun around on the table, turning to where the voice had come from. "What was that?"  
  
"The Dassah," the man yelled again. "It's the only thing that's missing."  
  
I watched as my mother's face drained of all color and her eyes grow immensely wide. One hand was fingering her amber necklace nervously while the other clutched the fabric of her robe tightly by her side. "Tell me you're lying," she replied. There was a momentary pause.  
  
"I wish I were, Madam."  
  
For a minute I thought my mother was going to break into a fit; whipping out her wand, waving it above her head and cursing everything in sight. But she only looked to her feet, the helplessness in her movements hard to overlook.  
  
"That was an heirloom," she said. Her voice echoed clearly throughout the now silent room. "It belonged to my great uncle, a Healer."  
  
"Was it priceless Madam?" somebody asked. My mother's head shot up quickly, the flame of anger once again rising in her eyes.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, of course it was! It was the last book on Earth that held the Beula Dormiens spell. The only other way of knowing that kind of magic is if it has been passed down in your family for many, many.--,"  
  
She faltered here, her eyes going a bit distant. Then she turned to me in the entrance, almost as if she had known I was there all along. But my mind was not on that. I was afraid that I was thinking the same thing she was.  
  
"Draco," she whispered softly, though it was a deafening scream to my own ears. Without even answering her words, I dashed back to my room, dressed, and was on my way.  
  
*Draco*  
  
Did I ever mention that I was an idiot? Because if I haven't, then here it is: I am an idiot.  
  
There is one, small detail that I overlooked on the subject of Pansy; and it is a very crucial detail indeed. If you don't tell her something, she'll find out on her own. She has her ways. It was her greatest tactic against Potter at school, and now she has used it to her own advantage.  
  
When morning rolled around the next day, I greatly loathed it. I slept through it and into the afternoon. But when I woke up, I found myself stiff and sore, discovering that I had not moved all night. Gingerly, I pushed myself to my feet and looked around my room, waiting until everything came into focus. Suddenly, a squeezing pain tore at my stomach and I ran to my bathroom in agony. I leaned over the sink and vomited, my eyes closed shut in disgust. When I opened them my stomach heaved again.  
  
Blood. I was retching blood. And not just a little bit either.  
  
Turning away, repulsed, I flushed it out with cold water and then washed my face. The thought of the loss of so much blood clouded my mind and a cold emptiness seemed to take over me.  
  
After brushing my teeth thoroughly, I fell onto the marble floor, my back leaning against the cold, stone wall. There was no doubt in my mind that this was my last day, although the thought did not do much damage to my sanity. I was not fearful of death, but saddened by its quick coming.  
  
I would never see Hogwarts castle again, graduate from its halls or reunite with fellow scholars. I would never ride a broom again or play Quidditch; pull on my Slytherin uniform and beat Harry for the first time. I would never again walk amongst the roses in the garden, or stroll through the manor on a cool day. I'd never be pronounced soul heir when my parents passed on and the family name and honor would never completely rest on my shoulders. And I'd never see Pansy again; I would have never told her I loved her only to hear the words repeated back to me.  
  
I stayed in the bathroom for quite some time, trying to remember what she looked like. When I broke into their house last night I couldn't help but steal to her room and stand over her sleeping figure. The moonlight did not fall on her face, but just knowing that she was there was enough for me. For as long as I could bear it I stood there, watching her sleep and holding the Dassah in my weak hands. During that time, however, I had a brief thought to leave it on her nightstand so she'd actually find Beula Dormiens and come save me. But I quickly chased the thought away and kept the book within my grasp. She shouldn't waste her only chance of using it on me.  
  
Knowing that if I stayed longer, I'd probably leave the book on her nightstand, so I escaped out of her window and down the road from the manor. If I had used the Portkey to get into their house directly it would have been recorded, and then they'd automatically know that it had been me who broke in. But even as these petty and meaningless memories washed over me, my solitude was cut short instantly.  
  
A sound caught my attention back into the real world and I sat up, listening. A dull thud had sounded from the other side of the door and in my room. It didn't sound like a door and I doubted anyone would be allowed to see me. My father did love his sick authority.  
  
Rising to my feet, I reached for the knob on the door, ready to encounter whatever brave heart had taken it to their conscience to come and comfort me. But before my fingers closed around the smooth handle, the door swung open and I found myself staring into Pansy's face, her dark, entrancing eyes filled with worry. There was a momentary pause, and then she reached forth and pulled me into a hug, wrapping her slender arms around my neck.  
  
"You're still alive," she mumbled into my shoulder. "You're still alive."  
  
"No I'm not," I replied bitterly, though I was returning the embrace with full force. "I'm just dying slowly."  
  
She pulled away from me then and looked at me with a grave expression. "Which is the reason for my being here," she said. Saying nothing, I let her lead me over to the bed and push me down so I was sitting on the edge. She turned then to close the bathroom door and lock the entrance to my room.  
  
"How did you get here in the first place?" I suddenly asked her. I highly doubted that my father would just let her walk in through the front door.  
  
"I used the same method you used to get in my own home," she replied, drawing the drapes closed so the sunlight was not blazing into my room. Inwardly, I thanked her for sparing me the scorching sun but I remained silent to her words. When she had finished her work she came back to me, standing before me in a sort of silent accusation.  
  
She still wore her night clothes, the black satin mixing with the darkness of her cloak. Her hair was pulled back and bound hurriedly, and the haggard look she wore told me that she had come in a hurry.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Pansy asked, her attempts at staying calm failing miserably. I stared up at her with a blank response.  
  
"There wouldn't be a purpose for you knowing," I answered. In her sedated rage she brought her hand up and slapped my across the face. Once again, ouch.  
  
"Why does everyone keep doing that?" I asked rather acrimoniously, looking back at her. She glared coldly at me.  
  
"Here's a better question: why do you have to be such a jackass?"  
  
"No comment."  
  
And then Pansy blew up in my face.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "What kind of moronic idea was running through your head? This isn't some minor detour in the road of life, Draco; this is big. If you had told me sooner I could have--,"  
  
"I didn't want you to get hurt," I interrupted, grabbing her wrist to calm her down. "I was protecting you."  
  
"Bullshit. This has nothing to do with me. You just don't want to lower your pride and ask for help."  
  
I tugged on her arm harder and she was forced to take a step closer to me. "Don't give me that; you know how much I--." But I couldn't finish the sentence. I was about to tell her that I cared for her, but it seemed too petty and pathetic to mean anything. She got the gist anyway.  
  
"If you did, you would have let me help you."  
  
"I already told you why I didn't tell you."  
  
"And that's why I stand by my previous reaction."  
  
I stood up then, not exactly liking the fact that she was taller than me. But now I towered over her, though she stared up into my face defiantly. "You wouldn't be able to do anything now anyway. You don't know the incantation to the spell."  
  
She stepped away, her hand slipping out of my weak fingers. "What did you do with the Dassah?" she asked, the defiance perceptible. I held my ground.  
  
"It's gone."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's gone."  
  
"I heard you the first time. Why is it gone?"  
  
I didn't answer. I wouldn't answer. I couldn't answer. The pain had returned, except this time it erupted in my chest before spreading throughout my entire body. I leaned forward only slightly, trying not to show my pain, which on its own part was incredibly difficult. I steadied myself against my bed post, gripping it hard. But thankfully it was only a warning; nothing happened.  
  
"And now I bet you're going to tell me that was nothing," she spat, her anger rising.  
  
I took a chance. "It was nothing."  
  
"Don't lie to me," she whispered. Her anger had hit critical now, but pain fogged my better judgment.  
  
"Pansy, please. Just get out of here," I told her. When I didn't hear her move, I closed my eyes and tried not to notice the pain, gripping the bed post as I continued to speak. "I don't want you here and I don't need you here."  
  
"Why are you saying this?" she asked me, and the pain increased as I heard the hurt in her voice. "I just want to help you."  
  
"No!" I cried. I doubled over, the spasm in my chest greater than before. I heard her gasp of horror as I let out another cry and dropped to my knees.  
  
"Draco.Draco? Draco!" she cried, but I was deaf to her calls. I had already fallen forward into the darkness.  
  
A/N: And here's another author's note! (cheers in the crowd and yelling in the stands). So anyway.I know this chapter really has nothing important in it, but it's just information that you need to know. But in chapter twelve things get more interesting. Pansy confronts Lucius, Lucius barters with Pansy, and Draco suffers terribly. Ahh.the things of dreams. Chapter twelve will be up sooner, maybe even by Sunday, but I'm aiming for Tuesday. =) It's all coming up!!! (One.two.three.four.! ~ The Beatles) 


	12. The Way From A Fallen Angel

Chapter Twelve ~ The Way From A Fallen Angel  
  
*Draco*  
  
When I woke up I noticed that night had already fallen and I was lying comfortably in the middle of my bed. It took me a few moments to open my eyes and then another few to slowly raise myself to my elbows; the earlier pain had dulled my reaction time. When I was able to look around I noticed that I was placed over the sheets and my shirt was gone, leaving me in nothing but my trousers.  
  
"I needed to perform a decent Reviving Spell, and to do that your flesh had to come in direct contact with the magic," someone said to my right, their voice quiet and slow. I looked over and saw Pansy sitting in my armchair; she had moved it over next to the bed and was relaxing against the backrest. Her legs were crossed and her hands were folded in her lap. She showed not an ounce of emotion on her face, but her eyes betrayed her, as everyone's always did. She was furious.  
  
"What happened?" I asked rather stupidly. She blinked at me.  
  
"You blacked out. It wasn't exactly extraordinary, save for the green lightening."  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Lightening. Your body was erupting with it; but it only lasted for a few seconds." She unfolded her hands and sat up straighter in the chair. She had removed her cloak and was covered in nothing but a plain black dress with flowing sleeves and a rippled skirt. It was ordinary, by wizard standards, but it made her look stunning at the moment.  
  
"You look nice," I said. Her hand gripped the armrest as she fought against her rage.  
  
"Please, just tell me the incantation."  
  
"No."  
  
She closed her eyes and then opened them again. "Tell me the incantation," she repeated.  
  
"No," I said again. She stood up then, gradually.  
  
"Why won't you tell me?"  
  
"Because I can't."  
  
"Because you won't?" she insisted. I turned away from her, staring at my bed cloths.  
  
"Because I can't."  
  
The short silence that followed was suffocating. When she spoke next it was without the anger and irritation. Instead, it was heavy with desperation and pleading.  
  
"Draco," she whispered, sitting down on the bed. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
I couldn't answer her. "Just go away. It's for your own good," I said. I never listen to my rational side.  
  
But Pansy did not take this lightly. She closed her eyes again, although this time it was different. It was like watching her as she listened to the sound of her heart breaking. Then she opened her eyes and stood up, walking silently to the foot of my bed. I watched as she did this, not saying a word. For a moment she stood in front of me, her back facing me and the air silent. But then she whirled around, her dress fluttering out about her and her hair flying over shoulder.  
  
"You are such a bloody idiot!" she cried, her features distressed. She looked close to tears, although I knew she'd never cry. It was just another asset that we shared. "Draco, don't you get it?! Hasn't it penetrated your thick skull yet?! Why do you think I'm here in the first place? Why do you think I risked returning to the home of my attempted killer by breaking into his home and threatening thousands of wizards falling upon me and cursing me into oblivion? Why do you think I'm so desperate to save you, fighting and fighting this ridiculous barrier you've suddenly created against the world? Why do you think I'm still here?!"  
  
I said nothing; just stared.  
  
"Because I love you!" she yelled, angry at the fact that this did not occur to me in the first place. My eyes grew wide and I felt my heart twist painfully. Other than that, my entire brain shut down and I was listening to only her words. "I still love you and I will always love you! Even after all that you've done to me: ignoring me, scorning me, treating me as just another minion to wait on your every whim; using me as a way to escape your own self-hatred and pitiful anger. And even through that time when I felt nothing for you, nothing but an endless void of space, I knew that there would be a day when that void would be filled once again with a love that I wish I never had! But when you saved me from the Lotus and I woke up only to find myself in your arms, I knew I could never change. I'd love you and cherish you and bless you for the rest of my life; and it would either be my rise or my downfall!"  
  
She sat at the foot of the bed then, staring at me with those dark, dark eyes. "And now I can't lose you, because I might lose myself," she said, her voice choking on the words. "I need you by my side, day and night, so that I know that I'm still here and that I'm still alive. Draco, if you die, then so will I."  
  
And at that moment I wanted nothing more than to give her everything she wanted. I wanted to tell her the incantation, to hold her in my arms, and to hear her say that she loved me; because she did. Pansy loved me. And it was for who I was.  
  
I came so close to telling her; so close to wiping that helpless look off her face and replacing it with the dignity I admired. But right when I was about to tell her the words my body seized up once more and the pain returned, though this time it wasn't only physically but emotional as well.  
  
I remember hearing a piercing scream explode around me, and it wasn't until later that I realized it had been from my own lips. My chest jerked upward once, releasing a burst of green lightening. It sizzled about my body, stinging and scorching me wherever it touched me. Inside it felt as those my heart lay in shards and was being pressed into the fragile flesh.  
  
"Draco.Draco!" I heard Pansy say.  
  
I jerked left and a shallow slash ripped across my abdomen. I turned right and an invisible blade drove into my arm. Blood spilled forward and drenched the sheets, the warmth of it soaking into the bed and touching my back.  
  
"Oh god, oh god!"  
  
"Get out of here!" I hissed, my voice strained from screaming. "Get out of here!" Then there was another blast of pain, fiery hot with the brittle tingle of ice.and then I was free; released from the torture only to lie panting in my bed, my eyes staring into my canopy. Breathing had become a chore now, the air not reaching my lungs fast enough. Both wounds blazed with pain and heat, the suffering too intense to express. I just lay there, trying to rip my focus away from my blood and onto breathing.  
  
"God, Draco." Pansy said, staring at my arm.  
  
"I know," I gasped. "Just get out of here."  
  
"No, you don't know. Draco-Draco, look!" She crawled onto the bed a little ways, staring at my arm. I managed to raise my head and look at it. My blood stained my entire arm and the bed underneath, but it wasn't stained red. It was black; a black so pronounced that it was faintly tinted with blue.  
  
"Shit," I cursed under my breath, letting my head fall back onto the pillows. We both knew what black blood meant. We had known since we were toddlers, seeing as this was one of the first lessons our parents had to teach us about.  
  
It was the warning given for an outcome similar to the Lotus and the Dementor's Kiss. It meant your soul would die-going through the same stages as your body-and then it would move on while your body stayed behind in suffering as an empty shell, dormant.  
  
I heard a faint sound come from Pansy and then a few seconds later all the blood had vanished. My wounds were dressed and I felt fresh and clean.  
  
"You know, it's a wonder neither of us has gotten an owl from the Ministry over all this magic we're doing," I said, attempting to grin at her and lighten the mood. "But I guess the Ministry does have its hands full at the moment."  
  
"Just tell me," she whispered. I tore my eyes away and looked back into the canopy.  
  
"I told you, I can't."  
  
"Will you at least look at me when say that?!"  
  
My jaw clenched. "No."  
  
The bed bounced a few times and then I saw her face hovering over mine. She had crawled onto the bed and was lying on top of me, her arms holding her up. "What are the words?" she said, looking into my eyes.  
  
"I don't know," I replied; and she could tell that I wasn't lying.  
  
"But how could you not know?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
She dropped her head in a sigh and then lifted it again, the look of anxiety caught in her face. "Does your father have the spell?" she suddenly asked. I stared at her, my brow furrowed.  
  
"I don't think I want you near him. Somehow I have this feeling that there's something more behind this than--,"  
  
"Does he have it?!" she interrupted.  
  
"Yes," I told her. I paused. "What are you going to do?"  
  
She stared at me for a long time, but it wasn't at all comfortable. The intensity in her eyes was blinding, and I found that I was trying to lean away from her, pressing my back into the mattress. I became suddenly aware of the position we were in. She was sitting on my legs, the heat from her body radiating off my own. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, the small movement brushing her dark mane across my face.  
  
And then suddenly her lips were on mine, strong yet sweet. Her hand gripped my hair and I could almost feel the tears on her face, although I knew there wouldn't be any if I looked. On my own part I could barely do more than hold her waist with my good hand, the other lying useless at my side.  
  
But then she broke away and it left me feeling feverish; the brand of her kiss searing in the cold, night air.  
  
"I'm going to save you," she breathed, the determination in her eyes impeccable. She pushed herself back and turned to leave, her hand dragging across my chest. I sat up then and grabbed her wrist, the meaning of her words suddenly hitting me.  
  
"Wh-what? You can't--," I said. I pulled her back.and then she was kissing me once more. This time it surprised me, making it easy for her to push me back into the pillows. She held me captive for a few more seconds and then pushed herself back up yet again, pulling out her wand and pointing it at me.  
  
"I love you," she said hurriedly, and then muttered something under breath. A light shot out of her wand and everything went black. Again.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Kissing Draco wasn't something I had counted on, but I didn't regret it.  
  
It was looking at him that got me to do it. He was breathing so hard, the look of death lingering about him. But he didn't look horrid; in fact, it made him look even more amazing. And when I our lips did meet it was furious, yet so gentle. Only Draco had that power over me. I wasn't really aware of much, only that his hand was around my waist again. It sent a shock up my spine and left me breathless. But it couldn't last.  
  
I had to break away or else I would never save him. When I told him he tried to stop me, and it only made me love him more. But I had to get to Lucius before it was too late, and no words would work on him; he was just too stubborn. So I went for broke.  
  
This time, however, he was caught off guard, and the surprise made me smile to myself. Besides, it gave me a reason to kiss him again, to feel his body against mine. But time was running out-and fast.  
  
"I love you," I said as I pulled away again, taking out my wand. And before he could stop me again I hit him with a Sleeping Charm. "Wait for me," I whispered, and then hopped off the bed and out of the room.  
  
*  
  
"You're not allowed in here," one of the servants cried from the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me as I came hurrying down the staircase. "Guards! Miss Parkinson, Master Malfoy would not like you to be here!"  
  
I couldn't stand her jabber any longer. I pulled my wand out and pointed it at her as I came to the landing.  
  
"Expelliarmus," I said lazily. The effort I put into the spell wasn't much, but the emotional hype of anger I was experiencing was enough to send the woman careening across the room. With not so much as a sideways glance, I pocketed my wand and continued towards the parlor room. Distant shouts had already started up again-probably triggered from the maid's cries-and were quick in coming. But I made it to the parlor before anymore distractions came around and was able to kick the doors open before anyone saw. Sadly for the Malfoy's, their parlor doors were sliding. Oh well.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. I hope I'm not disturbing you," I said, walking and turning my back towards the desk. I hadn't even the time to stop and see Mr. Malfoy, but I knew he was there. I could feel it. But I wish I had taken the time to look; I wanted to see the look of shock on his face. "I'm sorry about this unexpected intrusion, but I have some vital information to discuss with you." I waved my wand and the doors flew back into place. "Now what do you say to that?" I spun around, ready to face the surprised look on Mr. Malfoy's face.  
  
Sadly, there was none.  
  
He was sitting behind the desk alright, although he didn't look at all shocked. He sat straight in his chair, his pale fingers folded over the desktop. He looked at me through lazed eyes, and the calmness he held was infuriating.  
  
"Well, well, well. If it isn't our very own little heroine," he drawled.  
  
I swallowed. "Give me the incantation to Beula Dormiens," I demanded. I was breathing hard, (most likely from running down the stairs and performing so much magic), and it was the exact opposite of how Mr. Malfoy was acting. He unfolded his fingers and leaned back in his chair, staring at me through lidded eyes.  
  
"Tsk, tsk. Such a temper shouldn't be attained by such a little girl. Besides, what you are asking will take so much longer than you anticipate."  
  
I pushed down my irritation at his lack of enthusiasm and pointed my wand behind me towards the door once again.  
  
"Colloportus," I muttered, but I wasn't the only. Mr. Malfoy had mysteriously pulled out his own wand and had done the same thing. The sliding doors locked with a strange squelching noise and we both lowered our wands slowly, mine with the reluctance of suspicion and his with the certainty of confusion.  
  
"Well, doesn't that fit together nicely? Now neither of us can leave until both of us lift the spell," he said. "Why don't you have a seat there, Pansy, and let us get down to business." He indicated the chair in front of his desk. I walked to it a bit hesitantly. The way he used my name wasn't something I was comfortable with. For many years he had just called me Miss Parkinson, and only on a few occasions did he use my name; and on those few occasions, the result always turned ugly.  
  
"Your son his dying as we speak," I blurted out the moment I sat down. "He is being ripped from the inside out and you're not going to do anything?"  
  
Mr. Malfoy clicked his wand back into his cane, the silver serpent head gleaming in the firelight. "Not at the moment, no." He set his beloved staff against the bookshelf behind him and turned to me once more. "But I seem to have the oddest feeling that you are planning too already."  
  
"Big, bloody surprise," I spat. I was sitting at the edge of my seat, far too excited to put my guard down. "And to add to the festivities, I don't exactly have time to spare."  
  
This didn't seem to faze him in anyway. He only stood up from his chair and walked over to the fire, leaning an arm against the mantelpiece and staring into the flames. "Oh, but that is where you have miscalculated once again, Miss Parkinson. You will have to make time if you want to save my son."  
  
The heat rose up my neck, but I held my tongue.  
  
"And as you know, the spell you have requested is not one to be taken lightly. In fact, it is so rare that not even the most highly educated wizards know about it. Besides myself and your own parents, the Dark Lord is the only other being who has known it. And if you, a mere child a few months away from turning her sixteenth year, comes barging in here simply demanding it. well, needless to say that is quite unfair on my own part."  
  
"How?" I sneered. "If you give me the spell then your only son and heir lives and you're spared being charged with murder. Either way, you end up with the spoils."  
  
Mr. Malfoy looked up then and stared at me. I hated his eyes; the fact that they were Draco's yet held none of the finesse and ferocity that I loved him for was unnerving. His eyes were cold and gray, hard with lies and stiff from years of deception. "You speak no lies on that subject," he admitted. "But I am not exactly ready for my own grave, girl. Producing another heir would not be difficult. And as for the punishment of murder- you see, I always thought you had to actually kill a person to murder them. Besides, no evidence would ever show that I murdered my son, which I did not. He had merely performed advanced magic too soon and suffered the consequences. I am not to blame."  
  
My mouth went dry and my mind was suddenly swept blank, but I tried to hold my composure. The things he was saying were too brutal to be for his pure enjoyment. I narrowed my eyes at him.  
  
"Why do you look at me in such a vicious way? We are close to family, you and me," he hissed. I hated the tint of amusement in his voice.  
  
"Are you going to give it to me or not?" I demanded, resistant to let my anger go.  
  
"No," he said. I groaned audibly. It was a Malfoy Men Conspiracy Theory.  
  
But at the sound of my frustration, Mr. Malfoy actually smiled. A slow, small smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "And that, in all actuality, is what strikes me as extremely odd. If my son is dying in the brutal way that you described, then why does he not tell you the spell himself? It would only make sense for him; otherwise, it would spare you the chance to come and talk to me."  
  
At those words my anger suddenly melted away and I was caught vulnerable. It was true, what he was saying, but I wasn't about to let him know that. Never let the enemy know they got a hit in.  
  
"Your silence merely answers my question," he continued, removing his arm from the mantelpiece and walking around his desk. "Let me guess what his answer was when you asked him for the spell as well-let me see.did it sound something like 'no'?"  
  
A glint in his eye, a grin in his words, and a rising anger in my heart. Oh, the stuff of dreams.  
  
"It just goes to show how incredibly thick my son can be at times. It's very sad, really. He is an intelligent boy if not a genius in his own field. I did not raise an imbecile." There was a pause where he looked lost in space for a moment, deserted in a memory of long ago. Then he snapped back with only the slightest movement and proceeded with our discussion. "But he wouldn't tell you at all. No matter how hard you begged and no matter how many times you pleaded. Time after time he refused, and I can only imagine the frustration you could have gone through."  
  
"He wouldn't tell me," I said, hearing the mocking in his last words. "Of course I had a reason to be frus--,"  
  
But Mr. Malfoy had held up a finger to silence me, and I waited for his explanation.  
  
"Ah, but that is where your own intelligence flees you. Because, you see, Draco did not tell you because he wouldn't, but more to the truth, because he couldn't." I stared at him. "Now the wheels begin to turn once more, I see. Why he refused, why he never looked at you when you asked him over and over again. Why he seemed so close-minded on the subject of his life. He doesn't remember the spell at all. Not a word, not a syllable. It has been wiped from his mind; every last letter in that powerful little incantation."  
  
"You," I whispered, boring him with my eyes. He only grinned.  
  
"Me. It didn't take much; a drop of Forgetfulness Potion in his drink and a well placed Memory Charm at dinner. The spell would have stripped his entire memory so I required a potion to target the only thing I wanted him to forget. It's a pity none of you noticed, for it happened right before your very eyes. To my very own luck, Millicent had a somewhat part in you not noticing."  
  
I was suddenly rushed back to the night before, my mind replaying the entire dinner over in my head. We were all sitting, eating, laughing and talking. Draco hardly did anything but take a few sips of his drink here and there, downing the potion without knowing it. But when did Mr. Malfoy cast his spell?  
  
And then it occurred to me. Millicent had nudged Draco on the shoulder, attempting to get his attention. I also noticed that Draco had looked a little more stricken than he should of; reeling to the side farther than was necessary.  
  
"You slimy bastard," I said through clenched teeth. He only shrugged.  
  
"Insults will do nothing to help you."  
  
"So what will?" I asked angrily. Wrong response.  
  
"Only one simply thing. An eye for an eye, you know," he drawled. I furrowed my brow, confused.  
  
"You want me to give you something in turn for the spell?"  
  
"Of course," he said, and walked to the window. It was calm outside, the steady neutrality of summer claiming her season. The stars glittered on their heaven's stay and the moon gleamed bright in the distance. The grounds of Malfoy Manor were exquisite, and through this window, if you looked a little to the west, you could see the edge of the rose garden, and the high fence of rose bushes encasing it. "You didn't actual think I'd give you the spell right off the bat, did you?"  
  
"Not entirely," I admitted coldly. "But one can hope, can't she?"  
  
He folded his hands behind his back. "Hope is only a feeble thought of the mind that covers fear with a false sense of bravery."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Welcome to the land of the emotionally challenged," I mumbled. Thankfully, he didn't hear anything.  
  
"But seriously now; you must have figured that a wager was coming your way."  
  
"Are you deaf or something?" I cried, but then quieted my voice as his shoulders stiffened in annoyance. Regardless of my anger, it was not acceptable for a minor to counter the soft comment of a senior with such disrespect. "I mean, of course I didn't really think you'd ask for something in return. I thought you'd at least care for your son's welfare or else realize that anything I could offer you was something you already owned."  
  
There was an extremely odd pause that followed; the only sound coming from the gentle cracking of the fire. But when Mr. Malfoy spoke next, it was with a voice dripping with ferocious venom.  
  
"Even now, I wonder if you really are as brilliant as I like to think you are, girl. But as the night progresses, you cease to amaze me. Haven't you figured this out yet? Do I actually have to put the pieces together for you?"  
  
I couldn't say anything in return. But if I could, there wouldn't have been any purpose to it for Mr. Malfoy had already begun to fill in the blanks.  
  
"The letter, the Lotus, and the lies; my son's attempt at rescue, him finding Beula Dormiens, the spell backfiring; his rapid deterioration, the loss of your only other source, and the fact that I am your only hope in saving the one person who you have ever fallen in love with. Every last event that has occurred since the day you returned from school and every last horrible event that has brought you here.was all planned out by yours truly."  
  
If my mind hadn't gone completely blank and my body completely numb, then I would be certain that I would have rushed him and threw him in the blazing fire, or fallen out of my seat before rushing him and throwing him in the fire.  
  
"Neither of you realized how intently I monitored your behaviors over the years, analyzing every last thing you have ever done to form this little plan of mine. I had spent a whole of eight years deciphering your specific human natures only to derive the whole of my plan in one simple week locked behind bars. I knew how my son would react when a possession of his was placed in jeopardy, though I did not anticipate the plan going forth so well. I hadn't known he had fallen for you, though it aided the final outcome in the end.  
  
"But you-oh, I knew you cared for my son since the minute you laid eyes on him. It had been my intention, that first night you two met. I made sure he would be flawless in your eyes, a little prince that any seven- year-old girl would like. Needless to say, your motivations for returning the favor and trying to save Draco as well were easy to foretell. My plan, therefore, was close to perfect, if I do say so myself."  
  
"You planned everything?" I asked in disbelief, the ability to speak returning once again. "You planned it all, knowing which decision we'd make and how everything would turn out beforehand? What did you use, divination?"  
  
He shook his head. "Genius is all anyone really needs. Mix it with magic and you get power."  
  
I could have sworn I was fuming, literally. "For what purpose then? Why go through all this trouble and all this mind bending labor? What's your reason?" I asked, curiosity temporarily overpowering my outrage. That was when Mr. Malfoy turned away from the window and faced me, his chin raised and his face impassive.  
  
"My reason, dear Pansy, is simple. I'll give you the incantation to Beula Dormiens.if you give me your soul."  
  
In all my life and in all my years, never would there be another sentence that sounded so incredibly stupid yet immensely terrifying at the same time.  
  
"What?" I said, shocked.  
  
"Give me your soul."  
  
"What?!"  
  
Mr. Malfoy shifted his weight slightly. "Am I that vague, darling?" he taunted, though his face stayed serene. I crossed my arms and glared at him, angry that I had allowed him to surprise me.  
  
"Not at all, sir," I replied, mimicking his own sarcastic intonation. "You are just playing up to your name so well these days, dear Lucifer, Fallen Angel of God."  
  
A definite twitch had flashed next to his eye and it was a certain sign of discomfort. He had this strange sense of loathing for religions dedicated to good.  
  
"But I don't quite understand your proposition. Why would you want my soul? Are you going to condemn me to the Eternal Fire at the end of my life or are you going to possess me and use me to penetrate the dorm of Harry Potter at school and murder him in sleep? Either way, you're not going to get it, but I just want to make sure my choice is for the better."  
  
"Aren't you the witty, little comedienne," he hissed through clenched teeth. "And such a scholar in the Roman Catholic ways."  
  
"Genius is all anyone really needs. Mix it with magic and you get power," I answered, smiling at the cold look it produced. The best way to strike back is with their own blow.  
  
"I am not literal in the matters of requiring your soul," he said, returning to the subject in question. "And I am hardly the overlord of the Underworld. I simply request this: you promise me your soul, the one thing in your world that keeps you alive and has its own sacred throne in your heart, and I generate the spell you want. All it takes is a simple word."  
  
He stared down at me from across the room, the night sky framing his figure. I still gripped the edge of my chair, thoughts ricocheting through my head. Lucius Malfoy never joked when it came to deals and bargains, and I knew he would never change his wager from now on. So it came down to me: my soul or Draco. Like girls don't have enough problems already.  
  
"What do you mean by promise?" I questioned, buying myself some time.  
  
He took a few steps forward. "Let's just call this an insurance policy. If you or Draco are ever disloyal to me or the Dark Lord, than you pay the price for both. Though I doubt you will betray us, based on your current nature. You seem to play yourself as a very loyal person."  
  
I raised an eyebrow at him. "But I bet you I'm not permitted to mention any of this to Draco."  
  
"And that's one more for the Parkinson Intelligence Department."  
  
I bit my lip, nervous. "Alright," I concluded.  
  
"Do I have your word?" he asked. I nodded.  
  
"You have my word and my honor," I said. Lucius smiled.  
  
"Then allow me keep up my end of the bargain." He walked over to the hearth then, retrieving his staff as he went. He stood in front of the fireplace, unsheathed his wand, and waved it at the flames. They immediately vanished and the grate was empty. He then tapped his wand against the third stone in the mantelpiece and the stone faded away, revealing a small socket with an engraving of a serpent set into it. Frozen in amazement, I watched as he revealed his black ring, encrusted with the Malfoy Family Seal. He placed it into the socket and turned into the right and then to the left a few times, muttering something under his breath all the while. When he had finished there was a silence, and he returned to the ring to his finger and stepped back.  
  
We waited.  
  
And then there was black urn hovering in the middle grate, its menacing face shining from the light of the candles. It had appeared there quite mysteriously, simply not being there one minute and then being there the next. It was made from the darkest obsidian stone, the plain thing regal only by the sense of importance it held.  
  
Working quickly-but not too quickly-Mr. Malfoy bent forward and retrieved the urn. It was small enough for his two hands, the look of it seeming to suggest it could hold only one very powerful and very sacred spell.  
  
He turned around and handed it to me, the weight of such a small object surprising to the touch.  
  
"Now before you open it," he suddenly began, his voice very low, "you need to say the binding words that will seal our agreement."  
  
"And that would be.?" I asked, slightly uneasy. He shot me an annoyed look.  
  
"A covenant is made between mortals on this day."  
  
"A covenant is made between mortals on this day." I repeated.  
  
"And may only be broken by the resurrection of a fey."  
  
"And may only be broken by the resurrection of a fey." I let out a long breath.  
  
"It is a rather silly little spell," he said, backing away from me and toward his desk. "But the magic runs deep and the words are ancient. But in other news, I suggest you open your gift and retrieve what you need." He indicated the urn and watched as I brought my fingers up to the diamond stopper and pulled it free. One would anticipate a flash of light, a flurry of stars, or a burst of magic in any form, but there was none. The only thing that came out was a slow rising scroll of parchment, the look of it being incredibly antique.  
  
"And there you go," Mr. Malfoy whispered, the look of a hunter watching a deer walk blindly into his trap setting into his face. "Beula Dormiens, the spell that brings the dormant back to life."  
  
I shot my glance up at him. "But Draco is not dormant," I said. He only shook his head.  
  
"Not in the way you would know it. He is dying from the inside because magic has taken the place of his spirit. The failed attempt of performing the spell on you has made it so that the ricocheted magic pushed his spirit into a latent state and took its place as temporary resident. This spell will reawaken that lost spirit and help push the remains of the magic out." And although his words were spoken true, his actions did not hope for the best.  
  
Returning my attention back to the parchment, I plucked it out of the urn and set the black relic on Mr. Malfoy's desk. I turned around then and headed for the door, my eyes locked onto it.  
  
"Unlock it on three," I said forcibly, my mind already falling back into its determined mode. I raised my wand. "One, two, three.alohamora," we both said. There was a loud click and the doors flew open. I was almost there, I was so close to saving Draco now. And the moment I did I would think of nothing but being in his arms; the one thing I had dreamt about since the day we met.  
  
"And don't forget, girl; I own you now," Mr. Malfoy said sardonically to my retreating back. I stopped walking.  
  
Why is it that men can never accomplish their goal and then leave it at that? Why must they always do something unbelievably idiotic at the last minute that ruins everything they worked for?! Because Mr. Malfoy had said the exact thing that would bring his entire plan crashing down. He had claimed me as property.  
  
I would never be owned. I was not some piece of land to be bought or traded. I was a Parkinson, and, moreover, a human being. I would never belong to my family, to my school, or even Draco; and I was sure as hell never going to belong to Lucius Galahad Malfoy. I would never be owned.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for? I dare say that magical death waits for no one."  
  
The nerve!  
  
"There's something I'd like to give you before I go," I started, turning around and slowly slipping my wand back into my hand. I had an insanely joyous look on my face, finally giving my entire being over to my anger. "Something I think you'll enjoy very much."  
  
"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and playing along. "And what is that?"  
  
"This, you disgusting, little Mudblood bastard!" And I pointed my wand directly at him and screamed, "OBLIVIATE!"  
  
Never had so much power escaped from me in one spell. My anger fueled it, along with my ambition to rid myself of this horrible man once and for all. I had only meant to erase his memory, if not only the part concerning our deal. But I got so much more than that.  
  
Mr. Malfoy was blasted off his feet, hitting the wall behind him and falling to the ground. The force of the hit brought the bookshelves crashing down on him, the pile of debris burying him in an amateur grave. He lay very still.  
  
"Lovely doing business with you; it's always a pleasure." And with that, I bolted from the room.  
  
*  
  
Everything after I had fled the parlor seemed to pass me in a sort of blur; moments were moving so fast yet so very slow at the same time. One minute I was flying up the staircase, my breath coming in hard and the faint sound of yelling echoing behind me.  
  
"Miss Parkinson, stop where you are," was what I thought they were saying. Who they were, I had no idea. But one thing was for sure, I didn't listen. I pointed my wand behind me and muttered some spell or another and the yelling abruptly stopped. I wasn't even sure what I had hit them with.  
  
But I was desperate.desperate to win a race against time. I hadn't realized how much of the night had passed in the parlor, but I feared that it had been far too long.  
  
Then I was on Draco's floor, my feet guiding me towards his bedroom. Colors flashed by and candle flames were mere flicks of firelight streaking my vision. I was moving too fast.moving much too fast.  
  
And then I was moving too slow. I had reached his door and rushed to push it open, but my hand wouldn't obey in time. I was going so slow; slow enough to watch the bright, green light flashing from under the doorway.  
  
Then my hand finally reached the door handle and I pushed it open, only to be blinded by an intense explosion of lightening. I fell to my knees, the intensity of the light too harsh to stand against.  
  
"Draco!" I heard myself scream, my words lazily flying through the air only to be beaten down by the light. "Draco!"  
  
But he couldn't answer me. He was still on the bed, though it was almost hard to make him out from all the lightening encasing his body. He didn't fight it so hard this time, however. He jerked every now and then, but when a new wound was opened he simply let it go, giving it no acknowledgement. I wouldn't know until later, but the scorching temperature from the light had numbed him to all other harm.  
  
Gathering my strength, I forced myself to my feet and ran toward him, the blistering heat digging into my skin. I tore my wand out and aimed it for Draco, anxiety and anger filling me to the point of hysteria. I closed my eyes and the words materialized in my head. Perfect. I opened my mouth to yell them, to do as I had done down in the parlor and let the anger of losing him stimulate the spell. It would give the magic power, and it would be enough to push the death away from him. I just had to turn myself to my anger.  
  
"Treguna," I chanted, my voice increasing every second. "Mekoides, trecorum satis-,"  
  
*Stop.*  
  
My eyes flew open and I was suddenly filled with an alarming dread. That thought had not been my own, but someone else's. It had been calm and serene, yet the strength of it intense.  
  
"What?" I said aloud, trying to block out the rage of the green lightening and focusing on the voice. "What did you say?"  
  
*Don't do it.*  
  
My breath caught in my chest. "Why?!" I cried. "I need to save him! I need to do this to keep him alive!" I gripped my wand harder and prepared to attempt the spell again.  
  
*Not this way.*  
  
The thought broke through into my mind once again, more persistent this time. My mind began to slowly fall in panic, the blood leaving Draco faster now. "WHAT OTHER WAY IS THERE!?!" I yelled, madness in every word. "Just leave me alone!"  
  
*Don't make the same mistake he did. Do not use anger.*  
  
"What? Why?" I stared down at him, his face contorted in unbearable pain. It had become suddenly harder now to control my anger now that the voice had told me not to. It was bubbling inside of me, forcing me to let it out. "It's the only way I can do the spell right."  
  
*Anger will only bring you more troubles. Do not use it to power your magic.*  
  
"Then what?!" I screamed, my throat throbbing from the strain of yelling. "What do you want me to do!?!"  
  
*Use love.*  
  
And then the voice was gone; the presence and existence of it vanishing and leaving me with nothing but a huge blank.  
  
I was trapped in confusion, watching a boy I had grown up with, lived with, and love; slowly die as I tried to sort out my thoughts. The voice had told me not to use anger. But how could I not? It was coursing in my very veins, overflowing me with a wave of emotion, leaving little room for anything else.  
  
Well, there was room for one more thing.  
  
I lowered my wand hand and let it fall to my side. The light continued to sizzle and snap around me and I let it strike my skin and burn the abrasion. It could be fixed later. I had stopped at the foot of Draco's bed, but now made my way to the side of it, so that I was standing right above him. His hand was gripping the bed sheet underneath and the white linen was stained with thin trails of blood. My heart began pounding.  
  
Use love.  
  
I raised my wand and held it over him. Inside I tried to calm myself down. I breathed in deeply.  
  
"Treguna," I said softly. I thought of his hands and how they felt embracing me. "Mekoides." I remembered his voice when he told me he was sorry. "Trecorum." I saw his eyes when he told me I was beautiful. "Satis." I thought of him running to my rescue, attempting dangerous magic to pull me back from a dark prison. "Dee." And I thought of meeting him for the first time eight years ago and how certain I was that I loved him.him and the way he looked that night.  
  
A gold mist began to seep from the end of my wand, hovering over the bed in a sparkling haze. It was every shade of gold, swerving and spiraling together and making one great tapestry of sun-colored waves. But as it grew in size my body seemed to diminish in strength. It was as if my life was being pulled out of me and stood in material form as these fair- faced ripples of light. The hue it held was even enough to dull the green light of the dark magic, which still raged forcibly around us.  
  
Let it work, I thought. Let it work.  
  
A fork of lightening aimed directly for me, and it shattered into pieces right before my eyes. The burning radiance hurt my eyes and for a moment I was positive I had gone blind. But I still held onto my wand, my grip cemented there by the spell. The flaxen light was growing prominent now, out doing the lightening.  
  
"Now," I whispered, my teeth clenched and my eyes shut. I did not know why I said it, but I felt obligated to command the magic. It listened, and descended down over Draco's body. At the same time another flash of lightening collided with it, and everything was lost in endless white, beams of silver clashing together and striking me in the heart. I fell to my knees and lost consciousness.  
  
*Draco*  
  
There is a certain feeling one experiences that fills the heart with a strange sense of calm. Like returning home after being away for a year, or breaking the water's surface after you've walked among its depths; or even opening your eyes to bright daylight after a night filled with nightmares. That was what it felt like for me when I woke up the next morning.  
  
It was swift and fast, completely opposite to what an injured person should act like. But my mind had suddenly been overcome with a sense of panic and my lids flew open, revealing a strong dawn peeking through the slits between the curtains.  
  
The first thing I noticed when I tried to move was that I couldn't. Honestly, I couldn't. I was so bandaged up that it wouldn't have been that odd if I had been mummified. My arms were dressed with white linen and my torso was wound with a soft lining. My legs were lost under the blankets, but I could feel how heavily they were bound anyway.  
  
I was very stiff as well; the strength to lift my head abandoning me in an instant. For a while I just sort of lay there, staring at my canopy and wondering how long it would be before I'd go crazy from lack of motion. My mind felt like dragon dung, and even if I could think I was afraid the thought would be lost in the feeble chaos. I fell into a stupor then; in the state between awake and asleep.  
  
"You're awake," a voice said, and it sounded female. Instantly the memories of the previous night rushed back, and I had the sudden thought of Pansy. What had happened to her? Was she alright?  
  
Mustering all the power I could I lifted my head the tiniest bit, almost positive that it was her who had spoken and it would be her face that I saw first this morning. But when I looked into the doorway it wasn't her. It was my mother.  
  
I let my head fall back onto the pillows, guilty that I was disappointed in seeing her. "Yeah, I'm awake. But I'm not up for being social," I said. I knew I should have just let her in, but the only person I wanted to see was Pansy.  
  
There was a long interval following my reply; one where I thought I had been left alone once more. But then my bed sank from an added weight and I flicked my eyes to the side only to see my mother sitting there and staring at my arm. Her hair was bound up in a neat bun, her black robes were straight and pressed, and the amber pendent she wore around her neck was sparkling merrily; but despite her appearance, my mother was a wreck. I could tell from her eyes.  
  
"Can you sit up?" she asked. Her voice was quiet though not sympathetic. It was soft, but not gentle. It was bland. In reply to her question I only stared at her, hardly inquiring anything and knowing she got the hint. "Let me help you," she said.  
  
When she had me leaning against the headboard comfortably she took my bandaged arm in her cold hands and began to undo the binding.  
  
"What are you doing?" I asked her, failing to sound indignant for lack of energy.  
  
"There's no need for them. Pansy's spell worked perfectly, and we only dressed your wounds to gather the excess blood."  
  
At the sound of her name my throat quickly tightened but I made sure not to show it.  
  
"I know you want to see her," my mother said, untying the linen and unwinding it. "But I'm afraid you won't be able to for awhile."  
  
My stomach immediately jumped. "Why?" I asked.  
  
"Calm yourself," she said plainly, even though I hadn't moved or changed emotion at all. "She's going to be fine. But the amount of life that had to be used to push the magic out of you was quite a bit, and it left her incredibly drained. She has a few injuries as well; third degree burns on her left arm, a twisted ankle and severe damage to her eyes, but they can be fixed. She's in my room right now, sleeping. A Healer has been tending to her all night."  
  
She finished undressing my arm and placed the bandage on the nightstand. I tried moving my arm, but it felt weird. It didn't feel attached anymore yet it moved when I commanded it to.  
  
"It'll feel right again soon enough," my mother said, reading my expression. "It's just tired from the spell. Here, lift your chest a little." I did so and she began unbinding my torso. I, myself, stared at my arm. There was no blemish or scar to be seen; it looked untouched even to my own eyes.  
  
"How did she get hurt?" I asked, sounding more like a curious little boy then a concerned man. She folded up the lining from my middle and laid it on top of the one from my arm before she answered.  
  
"The burns were from you and the reaction of the magic on you and she twisted her ankle when she fainted after performing the spell. I'm not sure about her eyes, however. I suppose it's from all the lightening." She started on my other arm, pulling it gently across my body so she could reach it. "When we found her I was afraid that it had struck her head on. I'm not sure even she realized the dangers of it. But thankfully it missed her, even if by a couple of inches. I don't know what we would have done if it had been closer. She could be blind this very moment. But I ushered her to my room right away to be tended; even I stayed by her side all night."  
  
She was talking nonsense now, telling me things that I really didn't need to know or else things I could have guessed on my own. But then she suddenly fell silent; resolving to untie me in silence. When she had finished with my other arm I flexed it as well, trying to regain the correct feeling in it. She just sort of sat there watching me. After awhile I acknowledged it.  
  
"Should we undo my legs too?" I asked, desperate for the sound of another human voice. She shook her head.  
  
"We'll leave those on until tomorrow."  
  
Another uncomfortable pause.  
  
"How's father?" I tried, although it was a question where the answer was one I did not really care for.  
  
"I don't know," my mother answered, and left it at that. I stared at her; into her bland eyes and at her bland being. I almost opened my mouth to tell her to leave if she didn't want anything else, but that was too rude, even for me. So I just sort of waited. And waited.and waited.  
  
Then, from absolutely no where and with no warning, she came toward me and pulled me into a strong embrace. It hurt my muscles and made my body scream out in agony, but I ignored it. My mother was hugging me. The world could pause for my mother to hug me.  
  
After a few minutes, however, she let me go and kissed me on the forehead. "Sleep now, my son," she said, sounding close to tears and speaking with more emotion than she had ever exposed in her entire life. "Sleep once more tonight and rest. Because you're alive, and I want to keep you that way." She pushed me back to the mattress, pulled the covers around me and shut the curtains around my bed. "I'll see you when you wake," she told me, and then drew the final drape. I was left in solitude once more, but it was one that I did not mind so much.  
  
But I listened to her. I listened to my mother and closed my eyes to sleep once more, sudden exhaustion overpowering me. Besides, I would see Pansy. Everything was over and I had an entire lifetime to thank her. I would see her in the morning.  
  
But she couldn't wait that long.  
  
Somewhere around midnight, when I was in the peak of my slumber while staying alert to the world around me, the sound of a curtain being pulled back shocked me. My eyes flew open in the darkness, though I did not move a muscle. It could just be my mother checking up on me and I did not want to frighten her.  
  
Yet it wasn't my mother. The bed sank once more with added weight, but it was from someone crawling under the covers to sleep beside me. Confusion plagued me, but when their arm wrapped around my stomach and their head was laid on my shoulder I knew who it was: Pansy.  
  
She had come, silent as a ghost, and laid her body down beside my in sleep. Somehow, though, she knew I was awake, even though the complete darkness made it impossible for her to see.  
  
"I couldn't sleep," she whispered, her soft hair brushing my cheek. "I didn't want to be alone."  
  
I pulled her closer. "I know," was my reply. There was an awkward moment. "Thank you," I said.  
  
"I know," she answered, and then we both fell asleep.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Lucius Galahad Malfoy is mentally insane. Well, more so than before, I guess. And it's partially-well, it's all-my fault. It was my Memory Charm, if you can still even call it that.  
  
It seemed that I had not erased his memory at all. In fact, it was all still there, just severely jumbled. So jumbled that he has no idea what is going on.  
  
Now he just sits in his room, the sunlight blocked out and the room in a glum darkness. He sits upright in bed, staring blankly at the opposite wall with wide, wide eyes. His skin is pale and his hair is always in disarray, and the only time he speaks is to recite the same short poem over and over again:  
  
"There was a man on the stair,  
When last I saw he was not there.  
He was not there the other day,  
I wish, I wish he'd go away."  
  
He speaks every line slowly, his voice dead and crazed. But other than that, he says nothing else. He doesn't eat, doesn't move.nothing.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said to Draco as we sat in his rose garden, the twilight casting amber shadows over the horizon. It had been three days since I had saved him, and my own grievances were slowly healing. My sight had returned to me flawlessly, though the Healer had informed me that I needed reading glasses from now on. "I'm sorry for what I did to your father."  
  
"Don't be," he told me, standing up from the bench and leaning against the framework of the marquee. "I like him better this way."  
  
"How?"  
  
He only shrugged. "When he was in Azkaban I had no father; and if he was dead I'd be lost. This way he'll always be around, but he won't cause trouble." He glanced back at me and flashed a mischievous grin. I smiled back.  
  
And from then on our summer was normal. Dare I say, peaceful? The rest of our three months were spent in complete serenity, enjoying random moments of leisure or delight and never letting a day go by when he didn't take the time he needed in his rose garden and I never visited the apple blossoms lining our stream. But most importantly, we spent these times together.  
  
I don't know what you could call us now; girlfriend and boyfriend seemed far too childish and inaccurate, although that is what we were, in a sense. But the things we had gone through together; the pain and the near- death tragedies, the sacrifices we made, and the love we unknowingly possessed, were rarely found in people our age. Ours was real love, true love.  
  
And when the word love is mentioned, the last thing people would think of is Slytherin, yet we are the two people who hold it so profoundly. But I was content and so was he. We saw each other almost everyday and we dreamed of each other every night, and never could I think that these priceless times of tranquility would ever end.  
  
And then school started. 


	13. The Ways of Blessings and Sins

A/N: Thanks for your reviews guys! And don't worry more surprises are heading your way. But to answer some questions:  
  
Epicyclical, a fey can mean two things: a creature of mystical origin, otherwordly, fairy born (or) a look or feeling when one has been cast under a spell. In which case, I used it in its first meaning in the last chapter.  
  
Also, the voice that Pansy heard in the last chapter is yet to be revealed. Insert cynical yet low snicker here.  
  
And, if anyone noticed, the poem that Lucius recites is from the movie 'Identity'. It is a fabulous movie and I suggest all of you watch it so you can get why I used said poem in my story and for that particular part. Anyway, onward with new and more devious plot twists. Have fun.  
  
Chapter Thirteen ~ The Ways of Blessings And Sins  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"Wait a second there, Miss Parkinson," Professor Vector called as I was about to leave the classroom. I stopped in the doorway and turned back to her, my book bag slung over my right shoulder and my third edition of Numerology and Grammatica held tightly in my other. I liked Professor Vector; she was no Head of House and therefore played no favorites. Not that I didn't mind getting away with things in Potions, but it was a change in pace. Besides, Arithmancy was the only subject I seemed to hold a knack for; and I was second highest in all the classes next to Granger.  
  
"Yes Professor?" I asked.  
  
"I just wanted to remind you and Mr. Malfoy that there is a Prefects meeting in the Transfiguration room ten minutes after dinner. It's time to start planning for the Christmas holidays."  
  
"Alright then," I replied. "I'll tell Draco." The woman smiled at me.  
  
"Thank you. Oh, and I wanted to congratulate you on the fine work you have been doing all year."  
  
I shrugged. "Thanks," I answered, and then left the room, my spirits high.  
  
It was already winter at the castle; the month of December had just turned her glistening head and snow had overtaken the grounds in no time. It seemed that the year was going by so quickly, and soon we'd be on summer break once again.  
  
Returning to Hogwarts had been less of a hassle than I thought it would. Sure there was more tension and apprehension between houses now, (especially between Slytherin and Gryffindor), but it wasn't as harsh as many had anticipated. My sixth year had been moving smoothly so far, steering clear of glares and looks, or whispers and gossip about the Slytherin's and their Death Eater parents.  
  
I stepped into the corridor and immediately hugged my cloak around me. A chill wind was blowing in from the glassless windows, and wet footprints littered the hallway.  
  
"Over here girl," Millicent called over student's heads, and I walked over to where she was waiting around the corner. "What was that about?" she asked, walking beside me as I made my way to the Slytherin dorms.  
  
"Prefect meeting," I said, hiking my book bag higher on my shoulder. "It's after dinner." Millie only nodded.  
  
A few seconds later Blaise came up beside Millicent, her fiery hair shining in the firelight. She looked a bit sullen and a bit jaded, as usual. It seemed that her sixth year wasn't as relaxing as mine was playing out to be.  
  
"What's wrong, red?" Millie asked. There was force in her voice along with the smallest inkling of concern. She still did not forgive Blaise for what she had done.  
  
But the other girl only shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just not very fond of Ancient Runes. There are far too many things to be memorized." She sighed and glanced over her shoulder. "Draco doesn't seem to mind though," she said, her voice quivering, probably from the cold. "He sat there, silent as any schoolboy, and was attentive all through the lecture. Honestly, I think you did something to him when you saved his life." There was hardly a sense of amusement in her voice, so I wasn't sure if she was joking or not. She shook her head and turned toward the front as I twisted my own around to look for myself.  
  
Our friends had already heard of our little rescue missions through their parents, the events being the subjects of pride between both our mothers. And although we had made it clear that our relationship had gotten closer, we restrained from showing affection for each other out in public. It wasn't that it was embarrassing or ridiculous, it was the feeling that we didn't want to share what we had with anyone else.  
  
But then my thoughts were drawn away when I caught sight of the white- blonde head walking some feet behind me. And almost on cue, his head looked up and caught sight of me looking at him.  
  
Everything seemed to slow down.  
  
He looked just as uninviting as ever, his grey eyes sharp and strong. The only difference he held was that he stood straighter, making the fact that he had grown quite a bit more noticeable. Vince and Greg were at his side as usual, still towering and still menacing; yet they seemed more like friends rather than bodyguards now.  
  
But as he caught my attention he grinned just the smallest bit, nodding his head in my direction. Recognizing his usual greeting, I threw my hair over my shoulder and returned the smile. His eyes glinted merrily.  
  
And then I was knocked back into reality.  
  
Someone had knocked my shoulder and made my book fall to the ground. A stinging sensation erupted all over my left side, the injuries from the summer having only begun to fully heal. Hissing through clenched teeth, I looked down to the person who had been clumsy enough to disturb me. It was none other then Ronald Weasley. Big surprise.  
  
"Sorry," he muttered under his breath, bending down to pick up his own books. I glared at him, saying nothing. Potter and Granger stood behind him, watching me with hawk-like eyes. "Fine, I'll get that for you," he sighed, thoroughly irritated by my silence and disregard for my belongings. He reached over for my book, but I already had my wand out and waved it once. It flew back into my waiting hands and I pocketed my wand.  
  
"No magic in the corridors," Granger scolded, helping Ron put his own possessions back into his bag. "A Prefect should not break such rules."  
  
In truth, I really did not want to begin a quarrel with these three, simply lacking in the enthusiasm. But I supposed superior silence is not the way one should go about doing these things. So I decided to settle this with a civil tongue. Unfortunately, I was too late.  
  
"What are you doing, Weasley?" Draco demanded, appearing behind me quite out of now where. I sighed. Here we go again.  
  
"Nothing," Ron said truthfully, pulling his bag over his shoulder and pushing Hermione behind him. Harry stepped forward next to him, staring at us with his unseemly green eyes.  
  
"It doesn't seem like anything," Draco stated. "Why don't you just take your poor excuse for a wizard and get on. And I do mean poor." Behind me I heard Millicent snicker. I admit, it was a strong hit, but I did not fancy a squabble only an hour before a Prefect meeting. It would eventually come amongst the supervising teachers, especially if Prefects themselves were involved.  
  
Granger glowered over Ron's shoulder. "Why don't you get on, Malfoy. This doesn't even concern you."  
  
"Stay out of this, Mudblood. This is strictly a pureblood conversation." Draco crossed his arms and remained deadpan as Weasley and Potter's temper began to rise.  
  
"Take that back," Harry told him.  
  
Draco stared. "No," he answered. And how many times have I heard that reply before?  
  
"You're pathetic," Ron snapped. I rolled my eyes, already anticipating Draco's reply.  
  
"But I'm also rich." And then insults began to fly at an alarming rate, causing people to stop in the corridors and watch eagerly. I rolled my eyes, my presence already forgotten.  
  
"I'll see you in the common room," I said to Millicent and Blaise, although Millie was the only one who seemed to hear me.  
  
"You're not staying?" she asked, her eyes alight with amusement as Ron and Draco began reaching for their wands. I snorted.  
  
"Not my scene at the moment," I replied. "Tell Draco.never you mind." And I released myself from the gathering throng and continued my way towards the dungeons.  
  
I stepped through the open archway farther down the hall, having to cross the courtyard to reach the Entrance Hall. It was as if I had changed worlds. Outside everything was masked in a perfect shade of white, covering any flaw that nature would have overlooked. I pulled my hood over my head, protecting my hair from the frozen rain gently falling from a grey sky. I started out across the courtyard, my feet falling in the three inch snow. I couldn't help a smile spreading on my face at the silence of everything. It was truly a paradise.  
  
But then an odd sensation struck me and I looked around, nervous. I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched, and by eyes upon which I had not been familiar with.  
  
There, just to my right. Someone was standing there, partially covered in the shadow of the pillar he stood by. But the little I did see, I did not recognize. Jet black hair, dark blue eyes, and a strict, lean face. I couldn't see his robes, so I wasn't sure what house he belonged to, but I'd say he could make a fantastic Slytherin, lurking in the shadows like that.  
  
We stared at each other for awhile, nothing in our eyes yet looking with a little bit of curiosity in each. But then he turned away and headed down the corridor, his robes fluttering behind him. Without so much as a backward glance, I proceeded on my way.  
  
*  
  
Half an hour before dinner I was found sitting in front of our common room fire, reading that night's History of Magic assignment. I had just gotten my reading glasses and had been testing them for a few weeks now. They helped my vision perfectly, but it was difficult to remember to wear them whenever I did work.  
  
The common room was only slightly filled, most of the students already in the Great Hall for dinner. I had been left alone to my reading by all, but somewhere between the fourth and fifth chapter something broke my silence. A weight fell onto my lap and I lifted my book to see what it was.  
  
Draco had finally returned after a lengthy absence looking tired and worn. His head was laid across my lap and he had thrown an arm over his eyes. The rest of him was flopped along the sofa, looking just as downtrodden as his face.  
  
"You would think," he started, his voice muffled from his arm. "That the teachers would give a little more consideration towards Prefects before they just handed out detentions. I mean, if Prefects fight, it has to be for a good reason, right?" He growled. "But Weasley didn't get a thing. McGonagall believed him when he said he didn't start it at all."  
  
I raised an eyebrow at him, setting my book and glasses down on the side table. "Well, you know it's true."  
  
He grumbled. "So?" he asked. I rolled my eyes.  
  
"You know, if we want to win the House Cup, you're going to have to stop picking these random fights with Potter and Weasley. Especially Weasley."  
  
He lowered his arm and stared up at me, indignant. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Every time I get within one mile of them, or with any other boy for that matter, you always magically appear to scare them off." He continued to stare at me, almost pretending that he didn't know what I was talking about. "Draco, you can get extremely jealous."  
  
"Do not," he protested. I only stared at him. He looked away, beaten. But then he grinned, the fire reflected in his eyes. "But don't tell me you're not enjoying it."  
  
I shrugged, far too exhausted to protest. "Sure, why not." I fingered his collar for a moment. "Come on then, we'd better get to dinner so we won't be late for the meeting." Draco groaned and I smiled. "Up you get, up you get." We rose to our feet and headed for the doorway together. Before we left, though, my hand found Draco's and stayed there for the rest of the journey. I smiled to myself, basking in the light of my good fortune.  
  
But I knew it would never last; peace and happiness rarely do.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"He started it."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"Will you stop lying!"  
  
"Shut up Weasley."  
  
"And what's with this bloody attitude of yours? Just an hour ago you were mental because I talked to someone of your house!"  
  
"So?"  
  
Ernie Macmillan raised his hand to speak. "Maybe they're really close or something, like Pansy's his girlfriend or something."  
  
Weasley and I glared at him. "Shut up," we both said. Macmillan fell silent.  
  
"Okay, okay," the Head Boy said. He was a Japanese seventh year from Ravenclaw by the name of Kino Rhiannon. He sat at McGonagall's desk in the Transfiguration room, his tall frame fitting perfectly in the high back chair and his thin spectacles glaring down at us. He ran a hand through his short black hair, sighing. "This wasn't supposed to be the subject of our meeting."  
  
"Tell that to Weasley," I said, shrugging. He growled at me.  
  
"One more time, Malfoy. One more time."  
  
Kino held up his hands. "Alright, that's enough of that. Now, to the agenda." He pulled out a piece of parchment. "As you are all aware, we have exactly three and a half weeks until Christmas; so we have to begin planning for the holidays. I believe that the teachers have said that there isn't really anything prepared for this year, right Irish?"  
  
The Head Girl, a severe looking Slytherin with her dark brown hair in a tight bun, whirled around at the sound of her name. She was near the back of the classroom, taking attendance of every Prefect of the room. In truth, Irish Peters was practically everything a Slytherin wasn't meant to be: strict, firm, surprisingly kind at times, and she held a certain fixation for following the rules. She wasn't the most popular Slytherin of our house, but no one was foolish enough to tell her that to her face.  
  
"You're correct," Irish replied. "Regular holiday, no balls."  
  
A small groan sounded from some of the Prefects. But I was not disappointed. There may not be a ball for them, but there would be one for us. Definitely one for us.  
  
"What?" Pansy asked, staring at me strangely. I looked back.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said something," she said. I furrowed my brow.  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yes. You said something like, 'definitely one for us'. What were you talking about?"  
  
I looked away, a bit annoyed that I had spoken my thoughts out loud. "Nothing really," I replied. She continued to look at me.  
  
"What were you thinking about?" she asked. I shrugged.  
  
"I was thinking about the holidays. You do know that we're going to be attending one ball or another." She smiled.  
  
"Never doubted it."  
  
"Malfoy, Parkinson," Rhiannon called, snapping his fingers to get our attention. I looked back at him, aggravated. "Now let's try and stay with the discussions, shall we?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Good," he said, and returned to whatever it was he was talking about.  
  
We suffered through a few more subjects where the fight between Weasley and myself came up again for a brief moment. But when twenty minutes had passed, Rhiannon seemed we had gone through enough material for tonight.  
  
"Alright, I think that's all I wanted to get through. Just remember, tomorrow is Saturday and we are going to help the professors set up for Christmas. Other than that, I would say that this meeting is adjourned." He tapped his wand on a small golden timer, (a clock to keep track of the Prefect meetings), and waved a hand to dismiss us. We had all just began to leave when someone stopped us.  
  
"Kino?" Irish interrupted, walking to the front of the room. Our Head Boy looked up to her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She stopped in front of the desk, looking a little nervous. Believe me, someone like Irish acting nervous wasn't something to be comfortable about. "What about the Gryffindors?"  
  
Rhiannon looked down at her, puzzled. "What about the Gryffindors?"  
  
Weasley and Granger stared from one to the other. The rest of us sort of stayed behind, curious to find out what was so interesting about Gryffindors.  
  
Irish stared earnestly at him. "Kino.what about the *Gryffindors*? You know," she tilted her head toward them. "Potter's friends," she whispered, although we all heard. A look of realization dawned onto our Head Boy's face.  
  
"Oh," he said, extremely serious. "Oh."  
  
"Come on you two," Irish said, calling Hermione and Ron towards her. "There's something more for you two to hear."  
  
"The rest of you can go now," Kino said to the rest of us, shooing us out the door. "Go straight to your dormitories and no dawdling! If you see any students in the corridors, send them straight to their dorms or inform their Head of House. Go on, go on. We've all got an early day tomorrow."  
  
And with that, we were all pushed out the door.  
  
"What do you think they're talking about?" Pansy asked, walking beside me was we descended the steps towards the dungeons. I stared ahead.  
  
"What else but Potter? They're probably forming some ridiculous plan to expose hidden Death Eaters in Slytherin." I couldn't help but pick out the bitterness in my own voice. Pansy stared up at me.  
  
"I know you're upset about your father, but he was only--,"  
  
"He tried to kill you," I said blandly, masking the anger and fear in my voice. "There are no exceptions to that." We turned the corner and came to the stone wall concealing our dorm. Before I could say the password, Pansy took hold of my tie and pulled. "Hey," I started to protest, but quickly stopped, and for a very, very good reason.  
  
Her kiss was gentle and unexpected, the way it had always been. Right away I forgot my father and Death Eaters. I even forgot about Weasley and Granger and Potter. She released me and my tie. I straightened up.  
  
"Better?" she asked, grinning. I stared down at her, a little breathless, but did not smile.  
  
"Very much," I replied, and then turned towards the wall. "Beula Dormiens," I said. The wall opened up for us and the entrance appeared. It had been my turn to choose the password and I decided to replenish a memory.  
  
Pansy grabbed the front of my robes and led me in. "Come on," she said, sounding extremely excited and heading for her dorm room. "I want to show you something."  
  
"What?" I asked, grinning. She looked back at me and rolled her eyes.  
  
"Don't start," she said, still smiling. "Mother sent a new book on medical spells and I thought you'd be interested." She began to slow down. "You are, aren't you?"  
  
"Of course," I assured her, and she smiled and continued to lead the way. There was something in the way she moved, so excited to show me-me-a book that rose my spirits considerably. It was, in truth, a fantastic feeling. But my elation faltered for a moment, realizing that this was bliss I was experiencing; this was harmony.  
  
But it wouldn't last long; peace and happiness rarely do.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Night fell over the castle, the sun sinking low behind the thin line of the horizon. Snow still fell from the sky, ghostly and gallant as any natural phenomenon. It fell upon the ground and replenished where humans had mutilated the tapestry of white. The young night began to seep through the walls, filling the school with early innocence. Eyes were closed to nightly slumber, and heads were laid down to impossible dreams. Everything was peaceful and silent.  
  
And then midnight came.  
  
In a rush of wind the purity of the night was ripped away to be embedded with sins of destruction. This was the time when late night conspirators emerged from the depths to wreak havoc upon the content. This was the hour when shadows were dominant and the steady flames of house fires began to wane into embers. These were the moments when the cold and bitter fed upon the glory of the warm and joyous. This was the time of demons.  
  
And among these was one, Blaise Zabini; a gold-skinned, flame-haired, green eyed angel harvesting the sin of deepest envy. In the stillness of her dormitory she slipped out of bed, pulled on her robe, and stole out of her room, silent as a phantom. Down the darkened stairway she went, making little noise as she headed for the familiar Slytherin Common Room.  
  
As she came towards the landing she stopped, her eyes fixed upon the figure sitting comfortably in front of the fire. Perfect. He had come.  
  
The slick, jet black hair, the alluring pale complexion, and the dark blue eyes that, at the moment she couldn't see, was everything opposite of what she, herself was. Only one thing connected these two: their sick and dangerous hunger for love and war.  
  
"Since we're going to keep meeting like this, I suggest that you learn to hold your silence," the boy said, barely moving his lips. He was turned away from the staircase, but had somehow known of her approach.  
  
"I hardly made a sound," Blaise hissed, walking over to the boy and standing directly in front of him. He hadn't donned his night attire as she had, standing there in her hunter green, silk nightgown and robe. He remained in his pressed school robes, the Slytherin badge on his chest gleaming in the firelight. "Besides, how can you be so certain that I'll continue with our meetings?"  
  
"Darling," the boy cooed, his cut-English accent pronouncing every syllable flawlessly. "I know you far too well to think otherwise." He reached forward and caressed her arm with his pale fingers, sending tingles up her spine. But she only rolled her eyes at the feeling.  
  
"Thank you, once again Christian, for reminding me how grateful I am that I was not destined to marry you," she said, pulling away so she could take a seat in the sofa next to his armchair. Christian only smiled.  
  
"No, we are too close kin for marriage. If we had only been third cousins and not second."  
  
Blaise groaned.  
  
"Oh but please, do not flatter yourself," he assured her, leaning back into the armchair and turning his eyes away from her. "You were never really my type."  
  
"How so?" she suddenly asked, slightly annoyed by his quick retreat in affection.  
  
Christian only shrugged. "I'm not fond of a woman with such a malicious mind," he stated. "Such traits would be useless to me, seeing as I harbor the very same mind. I need someone with drive and determination; someone with a heart for loyalty. You, dear kinswoman, hardly obtain any of these qualities with refined finesse."  
  
Blaise only smiled. "And I am educated enough to take that as a compliment." She swung her legs onto the sofa, her nightgown falling up around her knees and allowing the light from the fire to reflect against her tawny skin. She turned back to Christian.  
  
"But I think I've found you the right girl," she told him, speaking strictly. "I assume you saw her today?" She leaned back, awaiting his answer.  
  
In turn, he closed his eyes, thoughtfully. "Darkest hair, ebony eyes, light complexion and slim frame. Her face.purpose mixed with joy; a rare combination. Five foot two, a natural love for Arithmancy, a late injury on her left arm, newly appointed reading glasses, and the softest case of curiosity." He opened his eyes to Blaise's face, grinning at her look of utter revulsion.  
  
"Oh God, you really are a stalker," she said quite blandly, with only the smallest bit of sarcasm. Christian sighed. She watched as he slowly loosened his tie, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"I cannot help my accurate observations," he replied. Then he suddenly fixed her with a piercing blue stare. "Not that you've ever complained before." There was a strong moment of tension, each one boring their eyes into the other.  
  
"That was a long time ago."  
  
"But you still remember," he said. Blaise looked to the ground, defeated. A short pause.  
  
"So.what do you think?" she asked. Christian stared.  
  
"What do you mean, 'what do I think'?"  
  
"About her."  
  
"Parkinson."  
  
"Yes."  
  
He hesitated. "She has potential," he said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"She could come to be queen one day, what with her strong mind, unique force, and matchless looks."  
  
Blaise snorted. "Looks? You speak highly of her yet she is hardly a fey." She turned away from him, angry. It only raised Christian's amusements.  
  
"Green envy only suits your eyes, sweetheart," he teased. She waved his remark aside.  
  
"She's not even pretty! I don't know what is it that makes men love her so much."  
  
Christian rose from his seat and walked behind her, running a practiced hand over her hair as he went. "She is beautiful and you are bitter. But you are also stunning and elegant, and no female can compare to your radiance." He continued to walk the length of the sofa, rounding its other end and coming up beside her. "But I have yet to understand your purposes. Why do you care what I think of her?"  
  
Blaise looked sternly up at him. "I'm offering her to you."  
  
He looked down at her, confused. For the first time that night his confidence had disappeared and he looked to her with shocked puzzlement. "What authority do you have to offer such a high prize?" he asked softly. She continued to hold his gaze; her own unbelievably steady.  
  
"With the authority of revenge. She has something I want," she said. Christian narrowed his eyes.  
  
"What would that be?"  
  
"A Malfoy."  
  
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "A Malfoy," he repeated, slightest inkling of animosity accompanying his words. "A Malfoy."  
  
"A Malfoy that I desire," Blaise said. "I want you to take Parkinson out of the picture so I can get in. Will you do that?"  
  
He ran a hand through his hair. "The question is not 'will I do it', rather than, 'what will I receive in turn'." He looked down to her, his look menacing and grave. Now it was Blaise's turn to be confused.  
  
"And what would you have to complain about? You said so yourself that she was quite a catch. Use your charm on her and she'll be nothing but yours."  
  
"That's not what I want," Christian said.  
  
"Then what?"  
  
His fist tightened. "You know what I want," he whispered. Her shoulders tensed.  
  
"You know I can't give you that," she said. But he was not going to back down.  
  
"Give me that and I will do whatever you want," he said, and it was an offer she could not refuse.  
  
She stared down at her hands. "Anything? Including taking Pansy away?"  
  
"Yes," he answered, his voiced slightly choked. "I'll.I'll take both of us away." Blaise looked up at him then, searching his face for a lie.  
  
"Alright," she said, nodding. "Deal."  
  
Christian continued to hold his severity. "You swear by your family's name and honor?"  
  
She sighed. "I swear on my family's name and honor." Another uncomfortable pause.  
  
Then he bent down by her side, still staring at her with his dark blue gaze. "The moment we succeed in this, you give me back what I want. The very, exact moment."  
  
She nodded softly. "Yes," she said.  
  
"Very well. We are done for tonight," he said, and leaned forward to kiss her, full on the lips. It scared her, slightly, and he lingered longer than what was necessary. Much longer than what was necessary. When they broke contact Blaise could feel a cold shiver travel along her spine before she realized it was his fingers over her thin nightgown. "Until next time," he whispered, and then disappeared to the boys' dormitories. But Blaise sat in front of the fire for quite a while, trying to release herself of the kiss and wondering what exactly she had gotten herself in to.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/N: As we say in the movie business: The plot thickens. What evil and malevolent schemes is Blaise thinking up now? What is going on with the mysterious youth, Christian, and what history have these two shared? What was so important that Ron and Hermione had to stay behind to find out, and what part will it play in the story? And a question still lingers from past events-who was that heaven-sent voice that spoke to Pansy back in Malfoy Manor? I may have already given you the answers to these questions.so let's see if you can figure them out before I do. Enjoy. 


	14. The Ways of Lies, the Difference of Secr...

Chapter Fourteen ~ The Ways of Lies, the Difference of Secrets  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Honestly, when you're given the day's description of 'setting up Christmas decorations', you don't exactly associate it with a mysterious and handsome youth, and tingling feelings all down your spine.  
  
Well, you can probably guess how my day went. In truth it started out fabulous and ended just as well; it was the time in between that still sends shivers down my spine.  
  
Actually, I began the day by oversleeping. Not exactly Prefect behavior, but I couldn't help it. It was a weekend. It was well beyond ten o'clock when someone had found it in their time to wake me up. Lucky for me, it was none other than Draco.  
  
"Okay, wake up. I am not fixing up the Great Hall alone," he said, barging into my room and pulling aside my curtains. So much for a morning of wooing and charm.  
  
"It's too early," I groaned, pulling the covers over my head and turning away. "Go back to bed."  
  
"It's ten fifty-five in the morning."  
  
"So?"  
  
Draco reached down and pulled my covers off me and threw them on the floor. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut, burying my head under my pillow. "Draco," I whined. "Can't you just do it on your own?"  
  
"By myself?" he asked, shocked. "Are you mad?"  
  
"Of course I'm mad, you woke me up too early."  
  
Draco sighed. "Alright, you've left me no choice. But know that you drove me to do this," he said. I lifted the pillow off my head and stared up at him.  
  
"Do what?" I asked. He grinned mischievously.  
  
"This," he said, and bent down to scoop me up in his arms. With me looking a bit stunned and slightly appreciative, he left the room with hardly an ounce of hesitation. He headed out of my dorm, out the common room, and out the dungeons, ignoring anyone who stared at us. Up the stairs he went, carrying me all the way to the Prefect's bathroom. It would have been incredibly sweet and caring.if he hadn't filled the pool- sized bath with freezing cold water and thrown me in.  
  
Thoroughly alarmed, I flailed around in the water for a few seconds before I caught my footing. When I was able to stand up properly and regain my vision, I saw that Draco was standing on the edge and staring down at me, laughing.  
  
"Real nice," I cried, spitting out a mouth full of water. I glared up at him, but he only shrugged.  
  
"Well, what can you do about it?" he said, grinning as I fumbled with my sopping hair.  
  
"I'll kill you," I threatened, wrapping my arms around myself and trying to lock in some heat. Winter in a castle isn't exactly the best time or place for artic waters. I moved over to the pool's edge and he knelt down, staring at me with amused eyes. I stared at him, trying to show him that I was extremely angry; but it seemed I was fighting a losing battle. One look at his face wiped away any anger I could have felt.  
  
He leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. "You won't kill me," he said confidently. "You love me too much."  
  
"Yeah, whatever," I said, knowing his words to be nothing but true. He smiled at my sullenness.  
  
"I'll go get you some clothes while you clean up. Then we are both going to spend the day decorating an overgrown weed and pretending we're enjoying it for the sake of our teachers." He jumped to his feet and left the room, leaving me to stand shivering amongst the waves.  
  
"Yes, go on ahead," I said to no one, mumbling as I made my way over to the closest tap. "Don't even bother to turn on the hot water. I'll just sit here and freeze to death until you come back." I activated the tap and waited for the warm water and aromatic clouds to fill the bath.  
  
When the feeling in my arms returned I pulled off my pajamas and submerged my head under, swimming a little near the marble depths. The scented clouds covered the entire face of the water only, so no one would be able to see anything I didn't want them to see. When I surfaced, I reclined against the border for awhile, simply waiting for Draco to bring my clothes. But as I sat there, I heard something I wasn't supposed to hear.  
  
"Hermione, we should tell him!" someone hissed outside the door. I was so surprised by the voice that I sank low into the clouds so that eyes were the only part of me that was visible. I didn't expect anyone to come in, as I was certain Draco had locked the door on his way out, but I was perfectly fine with extra precautions.  
  
"Ron, you heard what Dumbledore said! Why are you always so keen on going against everything he tells us?"  
  
It was none other than Weasley and Granger, arguing as usual. But this time the subject matter seemed to be important, as they soon revealed to me, unknowingly.  
  
"You know what, Hermione? I don't know! Oh, here's a thought: maybe I want to tell Harry because of what happened the last time. Remember that? He completely lost his head over worry and confusion that he led five of us into the Department of Mysteries and into a battle that could have gotten us killed. Notice that I neglected to add the fact that he hated us for the majority of the year."  
  
"I'm well aware of the consequences," Granger replied, her voice growing distant, as if she was walking away. "But I still think we should stick with what Dumbledore wants. I mean, he's kept us alive this long, hasn't he? That means he must be doing something right."  
  
"I hate when you're sarcastic."  
  
"The point is if he doesn't want Harry to know, then we should listen to him."  
  
Weasley still seemed to find this idea offensive though. "But the Slytherins--,"  
  
"-have nothing to do with any of this," Hermione interrupted him. But at the mention of my house I became slightly nervous. What did anything have to do with us? Well, besides the fact that almost all of our parents were Death Eaters. "We can't accuse, Ron," Hermione went on to say, actually sticking up for us, even though I wasn't sure what they were talking about. "They haven't done anything wrong."  
  
"Yet," Weasley replied. I noted in the back of my head to reserve a special scowl for him when I saw him. "They're all just a bunch of slimy Death Eater offspring; who knows what diseases they could be carrying?"  
  
"Ron!"  
  
Their voices faded away slowly, indicating that they had left the corridor. But even through their absence, their voices still hung clear in the air. The hairs on my neck stood on end, even though the cold water had long since been gone. It was a new chill creeping into my thoughts; it was the uneasy feeling of hidden conspiracies.  
  
Then a knock sounded at the door and I jumped in surprise.  
  
"It's me," Draco's voice said, coming in muffled from the hall. The door opened only slightly and his hand appeared holding a set of clothes for me. He dropped them on the towel rack by the door without coming in. "I'll wait for you in the Great Hall. Flitwick just caught me and urged me to get there right away." There was the definite sound of irritation in his voice as he closed the door and walked away. I wish he had stayed; I wanted to tell him what I had heard and ask him the question that had occurred to me the moment I heard the voices: Was the Dark Lord planning?  
  
As quickly as I could, I pulled myself out of the bath and wrapped one of the warm, fluffy towels around me. It took me the span of fifteen minutes to get dressed and ready, which, by any girl, was quite a record. I slicked my wet hair back into a tight knot at the nape of my neck and then hurried out of the Prefect's bathroom, desperate to get to Draco as soon as possible. I hurried down the marble staircase and into the Great Hall.  
  
There were only a few people still at breakfast, lingering behind to talk with friends or else doing some work they had neglected over the week. The rest were Prefect's like us, reporting to Rhiannon and Peters who were seated at the Slytherin table and pouring over scrolls. I did a quick sweep of the hall, and when I saw Draco, I noticed that he had yet to suffer from immediate loneliness.  
  
Standing next to him, watching avidly as he levitated a gold star to the top of the tremendous Christmas tree, was Blaise. She looked stunning in simple, green robes, and her long hair falling around her shoulders. It didn't really bother me, seeing as we *were* all friends and were bound to talk to each other at some point or another. But as I made my way to the head of the hall, I couldn't help but notice the way all the boys, including Draco, were looking at her. It could make any girl feel insignificant in one way or another.  
  
"Honestly Draco, you do magic like a barbarian," she was saying, eyeing the hovering star with a wary eye. It wasn't entirely untrue. The ornament seemed to be having an internal struggle about whether or not it should continue its quest upward. Draco stared at it intently for awhile, studying its rise-and-fall dispute.  
  
"Huh," he mumbled. "It does look a little drunken, now that you mention it."  
  
"Drunken like the Irish is more like it," Blaise said, shaking her head. "Here, let me help you." She slipped her fingers over his own to grasp his wand and direct his hand. If I hadn't been so keen on seeing Blaise as a close ally who would never dare to betray me, then I would have noticed the uneasy look on Draco's face as she came to stand near him.  
  
"That's loads better," I said, coming up to them and watching as the decoration settled itself at the top. Both of them seem to start at the sound of my voice, Draco pulling quickly out of Blaise's grasp and stepping away.  
  
"Pansy," he said, slightly husky. I stared at him, grinning apprehensively.  
  
"Draco," I replied, mocking his breathless air. I looked up to the star at the top of the tree. "Not a bad job," I complimented, leaning back to get a better look. "Your specialty was always Charms, Blaise."  
  
"Thank you darling," she answered, though the appreciation seemed to only be a mask hiding something else. "It seems we Slytherins only have our talents in certain areas and lack in others. I'm not as skilled in anything else."  
  
"Neither am I," I replied, pulling out my wand. "But would you like to help us with the tree? Well, only if you're not busy today."  
  
Blaise's eyes seemed to flick over to the Slytherin table and she slowly shook her head. "No, no. I wouldn't want to.intrude. Besides, I have some things I need to take care of."  
  
"Alright then," I said, watching her as she left. "We'll see you later then."  
  
"Yeah," Draco answered in a slightly reluctant voice. "See you later."  
  
"You can count on it," Blaise called over her shoulder, and proceeded to make her way to-surprisingly-Kino and Irish.  
  
"Strange," I stated, slowly turning my head away from her and back onto the task at hand. "I didn't know Blaise knew the Head Boy or Girl."  
  
"Yeah, me either," Draco replied offhandedly. He then looped his arm around my waist and gave me a quick kiss. "I missed you," he told me. I stared up at him, politely confused.  
  
"What are you doing?" I asked. He suddenly looked concerned.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
I lowered my voice. "There are people around," I told him, indicating the students in the hall. But he didn't seem to see this as a problem.  
  
"Oh, that. They don't matter. I'm not in love with them."  
  
I blushed furiously and turned away, smiling. One could never get past hearing that someone loved you. I leaned forward and kissed him in response, my finger tracing the back of his neck. He broke away suddenly, breathing hard. I grinned.  
  
"But I hate when you do that," he answered. I cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"No you don't."  
  
A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips. "I don't."  
  
"Hey, you two-oh God, would you get a room?" someone called from behind me. I twisted around to see who it was and spotted Millicent walking past the Head Table. "You two are holding out on your work."  
  
We both smiled.  
  
"What are you doing here? You're not a Prefect," Draco said, the lightness in his eyes growing stronger every minute. He had gained a newfound respect for Millicent ever since the dinner over the summer, and it had unknowingly strengthened their friendship.  
  
"Yeah, I know," she said. "But have you seen the size of the trees their bringing in? That Rubeus Hagrid can't take them in all at once, now can he?"  
  
"So they dragged you into it?" I asked her. She shrugged and nodded.  
  
"I can lend a hand to the school every now and then, can't I?" she asked indignantly. I only stared at her before she broke into a wide grin. "Alright, you got me. How does an award of thirty house points sound to you?"  
  
"Sounds damn near incredible to me," Draco said. "It seems that no teacher wants to give points to our House lately."  
  
Millicent snorted bitterly. "Three guesses why."  
  
"I know," he said. "It's not exactly fair. We didn't do anything."  
  
"And when has that been an issue? Besides, I've never been on any professor's good side since I caught Hermione Granger in a headlock in second year." She shrugged. "Ah well, better things will arise sooner or later. Which reminds me." She reached into her pocket and drew out two small stars made from the finest gold. "Here," she said, holding them out to us. We both stepped forward to take them. "They came by owl into the common room, but both of you were already gone. They're from your mother, Pansy."  
  
"Really?" I asked, looking down to the tiny star. "What is it?"  
  
"Tap one, two, three, and let the good times roll." Millie turned away and headed for the Entrance Hall, calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you two at lunch," before disappearing behind closed doors.  
  
"Well, after you," Draco said. I pulled out my wand, eyeing the star suspiciously.  
  
"Odd. Anonymous objects aren't my mother's kind of thing. But oh well." I held the star out on my open palm and tapped it with the tip of my wand three times. At first nothing happened, but then the ornament burst into thousands of tiny lights and left in my hands a star-shaped invitation embossed with the golden seal of my family name. "Oh my God, I'm having a Christmas Ball," I said, completely horrified.  
  
Draco looked over my shoulder. "Hmm.so you are," he said, disregarding my dismay. He turned back to his own star and unmasked the invitation. "I see that you, personally, had the idea," he said, grinning. I broke out of my devastated stupor and looked back at the parchment.  
  
"What?" I asked, searching for the information. Sure enough, my name was the first words printed at the top.  
  
From the Manor of Pansy Morgaine le Fehy Viviane Parkinson:  
  
~To all members of the house~ We cordially invite you to attend a celebration at Parkinson Manor in light  
of the holiday season. Our Christmas Ball will be held on the evening of December 25 at precisely  
seven o'clock. Arrivals will begin at six.  
Our theme this year is:  
  
The Court of Camelot  
  
The event will be held in ancient Northgallis, at the castle of King Pellinore of Gwynedd. The castle overlooks the Irish Sea and the Isle of  
Mona, the Isle of the Druids. Renovations will begin in light of the  
celebration.  
All parties are required to dress in the formal colors of green, black,  
purple, red, and silver.  
Wands are permitted at all times.  
Gifts to be of guest's choice.  
  
~Awaiting to see you there~  
The Parkinson Line, Seventh Generation  
  
There were much more formalities to the invitation, but most of them were just words of no significance. I stared at the invitation, puzzled.  
  
"Does it surprise you that I had no participation in any of this? I didn't even know it would be my family that hosted the ball this year."  
  
I looked to Draco and saw him reading the invitation with avid interest. "Not at all," he replied after a while, holding the parchment away for a minute and looking at it. "In fact, I'd be surprised if you did know."  
  
"How so?" I asked. He shrugged.  
  
"First off, I doubt you knew your name was Pansy Morgaine le Fehy Viviane Parkinson," he stated, smiling at the lengthy title. I could only shrug.  
  
"True enough," I replied. "I doubt any of us know what our entire names are." Draco continued.  
  
"Also, I don't think you'd even want a ball at your own home," he said, which was true beyond reason. "Personally, I'm glad my mother hasn't weaseled her way into doing it this year." But then he frowned prominently. "But that's not what bothers me so much," he said. I looked back at the parchment, searching for the source of his worry.  
  
I shook my head, failing to find it. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"The little piece of advice near the end. 'Wands permitted at all times'. When did that little detail come up before? It used to be that you left your wand in the parlor room as a sign of courtesy and guarantee that no spontaneous duels would arise," he told me. "Seems to be a special precaution regarding pass events." We looked at each other then, both knowing who these precautions were for. Then the conversation I had overheard from the hallway came back to me and the excitement to tell Draco about it mounted once more.  
  
"Draco," I started, pulling him along with me as I made my way to the nearest table and sat down. He took a seat across from me, interested in what I had to say. "About these 'special precautions'. I think something is going to happen."  
  
"What?" he asked, thoroughly excited now.  
  
"It was Granger and Weasley talking about it," I explained, leaning across the table so no one could overhear. "I was waiting for you in the bathroom when they stopped outside the door and started talking."  
  
"They didn't come in did they?" he asked, narrowing his eyes, the definite tone of jealousy springing up in his words. I rolled my eyes, half grinning to myself, and waving the subject aside.  
  
"Completely not the point, Draco," I said. "But no, they didn't come in. Anyway, they were fighting about whether or not they should tell Potter about something Dumbledore said. They were saying that if they didn't tell him, he'd probably do something stupid."  
  
Draco snorted. "No surprise there."  
  
"True. But there was something else. They were talking about us, Draco; about the Slytherins." He tilted his head a little.  
  
"And that's different because.?"  
  
"Because Weasley sounded as if we should have been doing something. Do you understand what I'm saying? The Death Eaters are planning and Dumbledore knows about it. And it's probably something that they want us to join in. Not to mention the strange coincidence that the Christmas Ball is actually requiring wands at the party."  
  
I watched him for a while, noticing the wheels turning in his head and the information being carefully processed. "But how is this possible? The Death Eaters are still in Azkaban, as far as any of us knows, and the only one who is isn't exactly in any state to organize a rebellion."  
  
I shook my head. "I don't know," was all I could say to him.  
  
Draco stared down at his hands. "Did my father say anything to you when you went to him for the spell that night? You know, before you blasted his sanity away?" He grinned at me, but the smile barely reached his eyes. Hatred for a father isn't something to be easily handled. But to his words I hesitated. I had not told him the price I paid for the Dormiens spell, holding that very important information to myself.  
  
"Nothing," I lied, avoiding his eyes. "He didn't say--,"  
  
"Parkinson," someone called. We both looked up, surprised for a moment. But when we saw that it was only Rhiannon calling me to him we relaxed.  
  
"Yes?" I called back, reluctant to move from my seat. He sighed and stood up from his seat so he could speak clearer.  
  
"I need you to run an errand for me," he said. I let out groan.  
  
"All right then, I'll be right there." I turned back to Draco. "We'll talk about this later," I told him, standing up. He followed suit. "Ah, no. I think I can handle this alone," I told him, smiling at the in grown habit. His shoulders sagged a little.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"No. But I can manage." I gave a quick kiss on the cheek and left, the elation of his protection swelling within me but the uncertainty of our fates gnawing at my heart.  
  
*Draco*  
  
Guilty-that was the first thing that came into my mind the moment I walked into the Great Hall and found Blaise blocking my path. It was the first feeling I experienced right before she took my hands and leaned forward to place a kiss on my cheek. If it were any other person, I would have seen it as innocent; but Blaise had lost her innocence that night at the dinner. I did not fully trust the ways of change.  
  
"Draco," she said, stepping back and smiling solemnly at me. "It's been a long time since I've had the chance to actually talk to you."  
  
"Yeah, it has," I replied. There was something else about her that did not alleviate my unease: Blaise seemed to be semi-bipolar. Honestly. During the week, when we had classes together, she'd act shy and closed. She would barely glance at me and when she did, it was quick and inconspicuous or else long and intense. But when it was just the two of us, like now, she would act as if I had been her closest companion.if not her significant other. It was slightly unsettling in a way.  
  
"Sixth year isn't exactly an easy trail," she said, falling into step next to me. She remained at a reasonable distance, which allowed me to breathe normally once more. It wasn't easy for a guy to ignore the most beautiful girl of their year who also happened to be the most flirtatious. It wasn't in our nature.  
  
I shrugged at her statement, nodding respectfully at Rhiannon and Peters as we passed.  
  
"You're working alone today," Irish asked, rolling up an extremely long piece of parchment as I spoke. I shook my head.  
  
"Pansy's coming," I told her. At this I noticed that Blaise stiffened, as though a name such as what I spoke was-dare I say-blasphemy to her ears? But they were friends; we were friends.  
  
"So they stuck you with this big bloke, did they?" Blaise said, staring up at the mile high tree. I nodded, following her gaze.  
  
"It seems they have," I replied. "Although I haven't a clue why. Decorating isn't something I'm accustomed too."  
  
Blaise smiled. "No? So I suggest your flawless wardrobe decks itself, does it not?" We both laughed at her words.  
  
"No, I suppose not." I pulled out my wand, ready to tackle the job before me. "So what were your plans for today?" I asked her, circling the great fir and summing up the work it needed. Beside me she only shrugged.  
  
"I wasn't thinking on doing much. I was actually planning on going to Hogsmeade, what with the holiday being so near. But the idea did not appeal to me so I yielded."  
  
I stared at her. "There are no Hogsmeade visits until next weekend. Whose permission would you have had to go?"  
  
She only laughed, as if my question was irrelevant. "By no one's permission. I would go on my own accord. Don't tell me these Prefect duties have gotten to you!"  
  
I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But wouldn't that be a little, you know, dangerous?"  
  
She frowned at me. "How so?"  
  
"These aren't exactly peaceful times, Blaise. You go out there with your Slytherin badge and that family ring you wear so often around your neck, and you'll be watched liked a hawk by everyone."  
  
At the mention of the ring, Blaise's hand flew to her chest where the ring rested underneath her robes. She had worn the leather thong bearing her family's crest since second year, saying that it was a gift from her parents for proving herself in Hogwarts. None of us has ever actually seen what it looks like, but we had no reasons to doubt her claim. But she had always worn it, never letting it out of her sight and holding the dignity that came with it.  
  
"They wouldn't dare," she said, gathering her composure once more. "I'm not a Death Eater; I bear no disgusting mark on my arm. It is my parents who hold that guilt." I stared at her when she said this, raising an eyebrow at her daring. She only sighed. "Think about it Draco," she said in a hushed whisper. "I say these things because there are others around. You know I am proud."  
  
"Sometimes, far too much," I mumbled, glad that she did not hear me. I kicked open the chest near the base of the tree and rummaged around in it for a while. As I knelt over my work, Blaise sat herself on another chest and continued to speak to me. She spoke of things she had heard-gossip, no doubt-and of the things she had said and done to him or her. She recalled past memories, telling me of events at home, and how her summer had gone. It wasn't ground-breaking news, but it was pleasant, so I did not mind her beside me.  
  
"But instead of striking fear at the mere glimpse of us, first years glare as if they're waiting for something. I actually had to speak to frighten them! Not that fear is my enjoyment, of course not. But it is good to know that one has finally climbed the ladder from first year to royalty."  
  
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I replied. Honestly, I hadn't the slightest clue to what she has just said. She seemed to have notice this, however.  
  
"Draco, are listening to anything I've said?" she asked. I shrugged, not feeling in the mood to defend myself.  
  
"No," I replied, extracting a majestic, gold star from the chest. "Sorry," I added rather jadedly. She scowled at me.  
  
"No need to apologize. Silly me not to have remembered that the only one you listen to now is Pansy," she grumbled. She crossed her legs and looked away, down towards the entrance of the Great Hall. She had meant for me not to hear, but I did; and I felt bad. She was still a friend, and if I admitted it, I didn't have them in abundance.  
  
"Look, I really am sorry. I was just focusing on getting this task done. But go on then, tell me about what's happening in Ireland." That was the ticket. She instantly straightened and turned back to me, her eyes lighting up. Mention Ireland, and Blaise switches from snapping vixen, to bright-eyed child.  
  
"Oh, it's wonderful! You know how our fortress is exactly where the land of Lothian used to be? Well, I was riding out with a few of our relatives who were visiting, and we made it all the way out to where Caer Eden used to stand."  
  
"That far?" I asked, actually interested. I stood up and pointed my wand at the star and let it hover before me.  
  
"Yes! I didn't think I'd ridden that far either! But we did, and it was amazing! We found a cave, and I could have sworn it was the same one that held Excalibur. We even found the split rock!"  
  
She continued to tell me all about her adventures of falling back into historical Britain, telling me this and that and that and this. I listened politely and even laughed when she laughed. In fact, I was so caught up in her story that I neglected my duties in decorating the tree.  
  
"And then we--.Draco, what are you doing?" she asked, laughing and smiling. She definitely cleaned up well when she was actually happy.  
  
I blinked at her, confused. "What?"  
  
She pointed to the star. "That thing has been hovering for an eternity! Shouldn't.wait, wait watch out!" She jumped to her feet, but it was already too late. I looked back at the ornament and it fell to the floor, smashing into thousands of gold pieces.  
  
"Ah, bugger," I hissed, stepping away from the mess. I stared down at the ruined star, angry at my negligence.  
  
"Well, you can always fix it," Blaise pointed out. I looked to her.  
  
"That's not what I'm concerned about."  
  
"Malfoy!" The cry split the air around us. The Great Hall fell silent. Blaise and I looked up to see Irish looking at the mess, horrified. "What have you done with the star?!"  
  
"Nothing," I defended, shrugging. I pointed my wand at the mess. "Ruparo," I said, and the star gathered itself back to its original state. But this wasn't enough for our dear Head Girl.  
  
"That is a priceless heirloom sent from the Magi in Jerusalem!"  
  
"Yeah, and it's good as new."  
  
She fumed. "That's beside the point." I scowled at her and she returned it with full force.but then her features softened slightly and she waved a hand at me. "Never you mind it then," she grumbled. "Just finish the tree, it's going to take you a while."  
  
"Pansy's coming," I replied, slightly annoyed. She looked back at me with a vaguely confused look.  
  
"Yeah, okay. Keep thinking that and maybe it'll get the job done faster," she answered sarcastically. She turned to Blaise. "Thanks for the message," she said to her, tipping her head politely before moving back to her post with Kino. I stared after her.  
  
"What was that about?" I asked Blaise after a while. She only shrugged hastily and shook her head.  
  
"I don't know what she's on about. She must have mixed me up with someone else," she told me rather hurriedly. "But Miss Peters is right Draco, you've done nothing for quite some time!"  
  
I looked back to the star. "Charms aren't my strong point," I told her, pointing my wand to the dreaded ornament once more. "Wingardium leviosa," I muttered grudgingly. The star struggled with its climb upward, bobbing up and down as it tried to decide which way to go. Blaise and I stared at it for a moment before she laughed heartily and stood up.  
  
"Honestly Draco, you do magic like a barbarian," she said, glaring at my work with a disgusted and amused look. I furrowed my brow.  
  
"Huh. It does look a bit drunken, doesn't it?" She said something in reply, but I quickly lost thought of what it had been. She had moved over behind me and laid her hand over my own, guiding the star with tremendous accuracy. Befuddlement came over me and I stared back at her rather offended. No one, not even the most beautiful girl in the school, invaded my space without my consent. Even Pansy held her limits, although her invasion was warmly accepted. I glared at her as she leveled the star to the top of the tree. eHea  
  
"That's loads better," someone said from the side of us, and when I discovered the owner of the voice I panicked. It was Pansy, and she didn't look any more beautiful than at that moment. She was looking up towards the top of the tree, completely oblivious to Blaise and I, but the thought of her being there was no consolation, and I moved away from Blaise immediately. She did the same as well.  
  
"Pansy," I replied, cursing my voice for coming out breathless. She only looked at me amused, smiling and mocking my attitude.  
  
"Draco," she said, replicating my tone. After that I didn't much pay attention to what was said between the two girls, only that I desperately needed to kiss the one I loved. It was the guilt of being with Blaise that pushed me to do it, and I cursed that part of my mind as well.  
  
Well, you know what followed after that: me bringing Pansy in my arms, the arrival of Millicent and the invitations, the strange coincidence of the 'permitted wands', and the news Pansy heard Granger and Weasley speak of outside her door.  
  
"I don't know," she said to me in response to my question of the Death Eaters. I leaned away from the table we were sitting at, staring down at my hands. In all honesty, I hadn't even the slightest clue that there would be anything going on this year. The Dark Lord wouldn't dare do anything unless he had his Death Eaters with him, even if their only purpose was to be planted as spies. But he hadn't even gone near Azkaban in the past months since the capture, having been rumored to a hideout down south, by the Black Sea.  
  
Then a thought came to me, and I worded the idea before I had time to think. "Did my father say anything to you when you went to him for the spell that night? You know, before you blasted his sanity away." Her reaction wasn't one I appreciated. She looked immediately alarmed and looked away, avoiding my gaze. I tried to flash a grin, thinking that she was uncomfortable because I brought up the guilt of my father, but it obviously was not it.  
  
"Nothing," she answered, locking eyes with me. "He didn't say--,"  
  
"Parkinson," someone called. We both looked up, surprised for a moment. But when we saw that it was only Rhiannon calling her to him we relaxed.  
  
"Yes?" she called back. I cursed that stupid Ravenclaw along with my guilt and my mind.  
  
"I need you to run an errand for me," he said. She groaned, but I straightened, suddenly afraid.  
  
"All right then, I'll be right there." She turned back to me, mistaking my unease for loving concern. "We'll talk about this later," she told me. She began to stand up and I automatically followed. "Ah, no," she said to me, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I think I can handle this alone." I didn't trust this coicindence that Pansy would leave me to the Christmas tree alone and Irish Peters already knew of it.  
  
"Are you sure?" I tried, trying to signal to her that I wanted her to stay or else wanted to go with her.  
  
"No. But I can manage." She left a small kiss on my cheek and moved over to Rhiannon who looked sullen and annoyed at her delay. I watched as he placed a scroll in her hand and told her instructions. With only a small backward glance, Pansy left the Great Hall, leaving me at the table to the unease she had left in her wake.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Now that I think about it, I can never recall Professor Severus Snape actually requesting a specific student to deliver his messages to him. It was unheard of. It was irrelevant to his nature. It left me thinking that my solo journey had not been requested by Professor Severus Snape.  
  
But Kino had handed me the scroll, given me cut instructions that the Potions Master wanted me to deliver it to him by my own hands, and then sent me on my way. So here I was, wandering aimlessly through the Hogwarts halls, trying to find my way to the Muggle Studies classroom. I had no idea why he would be in such a classroom, but I knew for certain that if he were, he'd have to wait for a long time, because I had no clue to where Muggle Studies was held.  
  
I was on the fifth floor, well away from the Great Hall, when I finally let my frustration get to me.and a dark angel was their to relieve me of it.  
  
"This is ridiculous," I cried, stomping my foot. I had come to yet another split in the corridor and I didn't know where to go. "Damn you, Rhiannon. This is hopeless. Of course you had to pick the one Prefect who didn't know where the Muggle Studies classroom is."  
  
"Temper, temper," someone whispered, though their words floated all the way to my ears.  
  
I whirled around, surprised. "Excuse me?" I asked. But there was no one behind me, and the words kept coming.  
  
"What you'd want to do is take the corridor you're facing now and make a left on the second hallway. Three doors down is the classroom you're looking for." Afraid and puzzled as I was, I noted that the voice was male, light and quiet, silky smooth, pronouncing every syllable with direct precision, and making my shoulders tingle with the sound. In a way, it was warm and welcoming.  
  
"Thank you," I said, circling around and trying to find the origin of the voice. "But may I ask to see my savior, or must I stay content with a bodiless phantom?"  
  
The voice laughed lightly. "Which would please you?" he asked. I smiled.  
  
"To see who I'm talking too."  
  
From the shadow of a pillar to my right a boy a little taller than Draco stepped out. He had jet black hair, cleanly cut and shining of silk. He had a pale complexion and dark, alluring blue eyes that jumped out at me even at our distance. He did not wear his school robes, so I did not know which House he belonged to. He wore a black shirt and trousers with a long, leather trench coat. Tall, dark, and handsome, and he took my breath away. "Well, I aim to please," he said, walking over, his hands in his pockets.  
  
I'm afraid I stared at him for quite some time, because he stopped but three feet from me and began to laugh. At the sound of his voice I snapped out of my trance and blushed furiously. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said. He shook his head, smiling.  
  
"Do not apologize. I have done the same thing for the last fifteen minutes." His comment did not help to lighten my reddening face. He continued to smile as he pulled out his hand and held it out to me.  
  
"Christian. Christian Machiavelli." He introduced himself proudly and with the correct noble formality, but his name did not sound familiar.  
  
"Machiavelli?" I asked, shaking his hand. His fingers were long and knowledgeable, yet his skin was cold. "I do not recognize that surname."  
  
"You wouldn't," he said, and then left it at that. "Would you think me to be too forward if I asked to escort you to your destination?" he swept his arm towards the corridor lavishly. I couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"Not forward, but friendly," I said. He nodded in recognition and we started on our way. "You know, I've never seen you around here before. Are you a sixth year?" I was looking down at the scroll in my hand, making sure the seal had not broken. There was short pause before he answered.  
  
"No. I'm a seventh year."  
  
"Oh, that probably explains it. I don't know many seventh years. What House do you belong to?" I looked up to him then and quickly wished I hadn't. I can't remember blushing so many times in one day. He was staring down at me, his eyes dark and searching. "What?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. He was slightly smiling, but he only shrugged.  
  
"She's right," he whispered, and it only increased my confusion.  
  
"Who?"  
  
He shook his head, looking forward. "No one," he answered. We proceeded on our journey and I couldn't help stealing glances to my side. He walked smoothly, almost as if he did not touch the ground. We stayed silent for a long time, but only until we turned down the second hallway.  
  
"So, what House do you belong to?" I repeated. He stared straight ahead, but a grin spread across his lips.  
  
"That is something I cannot tell you. You'll have to figure it out for yourself."  
  
I stopped walking and he absently passed me by. When he noticed that I was no longer next to him, he turned back. I was smiling, realization dawning on my face. "Yes?" he asked  
  
"Slytherin," I said. He furrowed his brow.  
  
"How did you--,"  
  
"Only a Slytherin would give an answer like that. A Hufflepuff wouldn't be creative enough to answer in that way, Ravenclaws answer straight out, and Gryffindors are too proud to make it unknown of who they are. You're definitely a Slytherin."  
  
I stared at him, frightened for a moment that I had offended him. But he only shook his head and smiled broadly and truly. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "Just as she said."  
  
I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say your girlfriend or whoever 'she' is must be very wise indeed." I went forward to meet him. He only stared at me, his expression grave.  
  
"Not a girlfriend," he said with extreme sincerity. "Never a girlfriend." The sudden sadness in his voice startled me.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry."  
  
We fell back into the rhythm of walking once more, the newfound comfort between us teetering on dangerous ground. The subject of the mysterious girl was definitely something I had to evade in the future.  
  
I did not dare to speak again until we passed the first classroom.  
  
"So, what brings you all the way out to the eastern part of the castle? This wing isn't exactly sufficiently placed in the busier part of the school." I nudged him a little, trying to get him to loosen up. It took him awhile, but he soon relaxed from his uptight façade. He ran a hand through his black hair, shrugging.  
  
"I take a lot of walks. Crowds aren't my thing."  
  
I let out a bitter laugh, the damp corridor becoming strangely chilled. "That must explain why I've never seen you before."  
  
"On the contrary. I've seen you before," he said. "Yours is not a figure to forget."  
  
Yes, I blushed. Sue me.  
  
"But you never came forward before? Strange of you to not extend the hand of friendship until now."  
  
We passed the second classroom.  
  
"Friendship?" Christian said, mocking shock. I looked up at him. "Shame on me then. I have underdone my introduction."  
  
He stepped in front of me then, blocking my way. I stopped, naturally frightened. But he only reached for my hand and knelt to one knee. I stared down at him, wide-eyed.  
  
"I kneel before you, Miss Parkinson, as Christian." He bent over my hand, his lips an inch away. "Christian Niccolo Machiavelli." His lips brushed my hand in the lightest kiss, his eyes never leaving mine the entire while.  
  
I froze, the scroll clutched tightly in my other hand. Christian smiled up at me, his own long fingers holding my own. "Friendship," he said, "was never my intention."  
  
And then I did the absolute wrong thing to do at such a situation. I burst out laughing.  
  
"Honestly!" I cried, trying to still breath while I fell into hysterics. Graciously, Christian said nothing but awaited the moment when I calmed down. "You just.I just." Gasp of breath. "It's much funnier than it seems." Small intervals of laughter. "I'm not laughing--," Laughter. "At you. It's just.okay. Calm down. Okay; it's not that I'm mocking you. That's far from the truth. It's only that the whole 'knight' thing." I paused, getting lost in his dark blue eyes. "Oh, never mind. That was very sweet of you." I raised him and let my hand fall from his. "It was adorable. Unexpected. Unnecessary. Unbelievable, but adorable all the same."  
  
Christian only shrugged, completely unfazed by the entire ordeal. "Not a problem." He took me by the hand then and led me to the third door from the top of the corridor. We stopped before the closed classroom and he took the scroll from my hand. "I don't think Professor Snape would mind it if we just left this next to the door." He placed the parchment at the foot of the door and turned back to me. "And I doubt he'd blame me for wanting to spend more time with his messenger."  
  
I couldn't oppose him, so I stared dumbly at the wall. "I-I don't see a problem with that. Getting to know a new friend isn't at all a sin." I smiled at him and turned back down the corridor, knowing that he'd follow and catch up. But even as I walked away I could here him say, "No, no, dear Pansy. I have made it clear friendship is not what I am after." The words were not meant for my ears, yet I did not take them into importance until it was too late. And as we made our way back to the Great Hall I realized that he had known my name.when I had never given it to him. I have never longed for Draco's presence as much as I did when I was in Christian's.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Blaise did not emerge from the classroom until she was sure the voices had disappeared completely down the corridor. She cursed the joyous laugh erupting from Christian's lips, knowing that it could only be Pansy's damn charm that could bring it. There was a time when Christian's only joy was her.  
  
Blaise waited a few extra minutes before she opened the door. She leaned her head out of the doorway to make sure the hall was deserted. When she was certain, she bent down, picked up the scroll, and stepped out of the classroom. Closing the door behind her and walking the opposite way of where Pansy had gone, Blaise broke the seal of the parchment and unrolled it, recognizing Christian's smooth handwriting on the page.  
  
My little Vixen,  
  
If this message has reached you then the first section of your plan has worked. I have summed up the competition and the prize and both meet my rather high standards. You rarely led me down the wrong path. She is amazing, this I already know as I write this down. I accept your proposal wholly, and by the time Christmas comes you'll have the one gift you desire most. But remember.the minute you gain yours, I want mine. Do not forget our deal.  
  
All my love,  
Christian  
  
A/N: Clues! Clues! They're everywhere! Have you spotted them there? If not, find them. Their stench is on every word in this chapter! Also, in future chapters (concerning the Christmas Ball) there are going to be a lot of references to the Arthurian legends. It helps if you know a little about Arthurian characters, because there will be a lot of clues concerning them later. Conspirators attack! Muahahaha.I love indirect hinting that makes people think and work hard! insert evil grin here 


	15. The Ways of Secrets, the Penalty of Lies

Chapter Fifteen ~ The Ways of Secrets, the Penalty of Lies  
  
*Draco*  
  
I waited for her all day, but she never returned. And I will admit it.I was furious.  
  
She didn't come by the time I was done with the tree. She didn't come when I had finished helping Millicent bringing in the trees. She didn't come when I had decorated every single tree in the Hall. She didn't come when I kicked over the last tree in frustration.  
  
She wasn't in the common room when I went to find her and she wasn't by the lake either. I checked the Quidditch pitch, the dungeons and even the greenhouses. Nothing. I went to dinner, hoping that she'd be waiting for me at the Slytherin table and I'd finally be able to breath. She wasn't there either. I didn't see her until half past nine that night.  
  
I was gratefully alone in my dorm room, Crabbe and Goyle taking my hint and leaving the minute I kicked the door open upon my entrance. As they closed the door behind them I ripped off my cloak and threw it across the room. Now, this shows how blind I can get when I'm angry. Taking off one's cloak and leaving themselves in nothing but a thin shirt and trousers isn't exactly the wardrobe for a damp dungeon in a cold castle. I was freezing within seconds, but I pushed the thought aside. The brittle chill would help diminish my rage.  
  
I jumped onto my bed and grabbed a book from my nightstand. I settled myself against the headboard, stretched out my legs, and opened the volume. I haven't a clue what it was about. I kept stealing glances at my watch, clenching my jaw to keep from shivering. It was eight o'clock then.  
  
An hour and a half later, when my body had long since gone numb and my eyes were burning from staring at the same page for ages, she came to me.  
  
Actually, I didn't even hear her come in. I was so absorbed in my anger that I didn't hear or notice the door opening and closing. It wasn't until she hopped onto the bed and crawled into my lap did I become aware of her presence.  
  
"Draco," she said quietly. I ignored her. "Draco," she repeated. I still ignored her. Sighing, she took the book from my hands and threw it on the floor. Her face came into full view then, and I hadn't even realized until that moment that I was angry only because I hadn't seen her for so long. "I'm sorry," she said.  
  
I stared at her, keeping my face as blank as I could make it. "For what?" I asked. She closed her eyes at the blow. I hated myself for hurting her, but I hated it more that she had disappeared.  
  
"I'm sorry for not coming back."  
  
I shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. "You never said you would."  
  
"Draco--,"  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
She hesitated. I struggled to hold my anger. "With a friend," was her answer. She wasn't telling me everything.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Someone I met while I was running the errand."  
  
"Who?" I pressed on. She looked away.  
  
"Christian."  
  
Somewhere in the back of my mind a heard a small little click. "Christian," I repeated. She looked back at me.  
  
"He's a seventh year--,"  
  
"He?" Another soft click. I knew that if I heard another, I'd certainly break.  
  
Pansy sighed then and tucked her hair behind her ear. She became very serious then, her face turning swiftly from flesh to stone. "Stop it," she whispered. I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Stop what?" I replied, keeping my voice as quiet as hers.  
  
She frowned. "Stop getting so jealous all the time. It makes me feel like you don't trust me." It was my turn to feel the blow.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said monotonously. She leaned back, surprised. "But that's not what's bothering me." I paused a moment to calm myself, even though I had barely raised my voice. "What bothers me is that I couldn't find out when you never returned. I went everywhere."  
  
"Oh," she said. It didn't help to ease my concern. "I was in the courtyard."  
  
I tilted my head to the side. "Which courtyard?"  
  
"The one in the eastern part of the castle."  
  
I paused. "No one goes to the eastern part of the castle."  
  
Pansy took my hands in her own then, staring down at them. "You're hands are so cold. But I was walking to the Muggle Studies classroom when I ran into Christian. He's a seventh year Slytherin, but I don't think any of us has ever seen him before. He was only taking a walk when he found me lost and confused. He showed me the way and we became fast friends. Afterwards, we went out into the courtyard and just talked for the whole day. I hadn't even noticed the time until the sun had already gone." She looked up into my eyes. "We're only friends."  
  
"And?" I asked. She narrowed her eyes slightly.  
  
"And I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," she said. I slipped my hands out of her own and wrapped them around her waist.  
  
"And?" I repeated. She sighed, staring into my face, confused.  
  
"And I mean it when I say we are only friends!"  
  
"And?" I said, one more time, a grin spreading across my face. She got the hint and broke through her stone exterior. She laughed, leaning forward.  
  
"And the entire time I didn't want anything else but this." She kissed me, softly but passionately. "You're so cold," she said, running her hands over my arms. I shrugged, kissing her throat gently.  
  
"Not as much as my heart was earlier," I whispered, only so she couldn't hear me. But what bothered me was that what I had said, I meant. And it frightened me.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Blaise glanced behind her at the grandfather clock. Ten past midnight. She narrowed her eyes, fuming.  
  
"Not even," she hissed, staring back into the fire. She was lying across the common room sofa once more, dressed in black, silk pajamas, and awaiting the arrival of her partner in crime. He was late. Very, very late. And in her anxious state, Blaise began to pluck nervously at the ring hanging under her clothes. "He dares," she mumbled, standing up and pacing across the room. "He dares. I can't believe he even thinks to dare.."  
  
Just then the entrance to the common room opened and Christian came sauntering in. He looked tired and worn, but rather content and hardly jaded. Blaise rounded on him in a second.  
  
"Where have you been?!" she snapped, making sure she kept her voice low so as not to wake anyone. "You're late!"  
  
"I know," was all he said. He passed her by without so much as a flicker in her direction, making his way to the same armchair he had reclined in the night before. He removed his coat and threw it over the back of the chair before sitting down. Blaise was only infuriated with his nonchalant attitude.  
  
"And would you like to share with me why you are late?" she asked. Christian looked up then, smiling seductively at her.  
  
"I love it when you get angry," he said. She pushed his remark aside.  
  
"Answer the question," she commanded. He ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"I took a walk around the lake is all."  
  
But Blaise wasn't satisfied. She rushed towards him, gripping the armrests of his chair and pressing her face towards his own. Christian leaned away slightly, the fury in her eyes far too hot for even him to bear. "I want to know where you two were today, what you said to each other, and why you did not think to come here afterwards like I told you?"  
  
He relaxed a little, slowly closing the distance between them. "I can't believe you feel comfortable being this close," he whispered. The alarm flew back into Blaise's eyes and she swiftly straightened up, taking a step back. Christian smiled. "Just as I thought," he hissed. "I assure you, we did nothing but talk all day."  
  
"That's not what I asked--,"  
  
"But it's what you were thinking."  
  
Blaise hesitated. "So? I made it clear that I despise the girl." She walked over to the fireplace and leaned her head against the mantelpiece, the warmth of the flames thawing her cold heart.  
  
"You're jealous."  
  
"No shit, genius," she snapped. She turned around and strode over to the sofa. She picked up her silk robe and put it on, avoiding his gaze as it followed her every movement. "Now, tell me what you derived from your little rendezvous?"  
  
Christian shrugged, leaning back and averting his eyes. "Like you said, she's one in a million. I've never met anyone with her intuition." He paused for a moment. "She even figured out that I was a Slytherin much faster than you did." He watched as the rage slowly built up inside Blaise.and then diminish with just as much finesse.  
  
"Do I detect the air of infatuation?" she asked, her voice light yet her eyes bland. She hadn't moved from the sofa, still facing the back wall. "Because you know I could tell."  
  
"I know," Christian said. "And I do."  
  
"Good. Exactly what I predicted."  
  
There was an uneasy silence then, the snow falling once more outside the castle. The chilled wind beat furiously against the ancient stone walls, but no matter how hard it beat, the castle would not bow to it.  
  
"So what now?" Christian asked. Blaise looked away from the wall.  
  
"Now you do exactly what I told you to do," She turned her head to him. "You get her out of the way."  
  
"Impossible," he said calmly. Blaise turned her whole body to him, staring coldly into his eyes.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Christian tilted his head towards her, smiling. "Impossible," he repeated, more slowly this time. "Simply impossible."  
  
Blaise leaned into one hip, her arms crossed over her chest and the look of malice over her face. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"You don't know?" he asked, slightly hurt. She prompted him to continue with a snap of her fingers.  
  
"No! Now tell me."  
  
Christian sighed. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, one hand running through his hair out of habit. He walked over to her and faced her with all sincerity, looking down into her face with his azure eyes. "When a person loves someone there is always this strange look in their eyes. They're always thinking of the person they love; that, and nothing else. That's the look Malfoy and Parkinson own. It'd be impossible to make them think of anything else." He said this all with a sense of sadness and longing; neither of which Blaise knew the source of.  
  
"That's not true," she said, determined to prove him wrong. "The entire time I was talking with Draco he mentioned Parkinson two times; and it was only to say that she was coming to help him with the stupid tree!" She looked down to the ground, desperate for a loophole in Christian's words. He only stared down at her.  
  
"Do you believe that?" he asked. She shook her head in a silent 'no'. "Then why do you still want to go through with this? It's an impossible mission."  
  
"No!" Blaise stepped back from him, her eyes alive with fire. "We are not backing down. The arrangement goes on as planned."  
  
Christian held his ground; his stillness unnerving to watch. They looked at each for a long time before anyone spoke again. "Why do you want Malfoy?" he asked. Blaise bit her lip, but held his gaze.  
  
"You wouldn't understand. Besides, it would just upset you."  
  
"Try me."  
  
She hesitated, taking in a deep breath. She began to fiddle nervously with the ring through her clothes once more. But in doing so, only increased the sorrow in Christian's eyes. Only one who knew of their shared past would understand such a reaction.  
  
"Blaise."  
  
She gave in. "Because. Because, Draco never even liked Pansy before this summer! He used to just keep her around because their parents pushed them together when they were little. And yes, Pansy did admire him obsessively for eight years, but he never thought of her as anything. Not since she fell into that stupid coma! But I've loved him since I first met him! I've wanted no one but him since he walked into the train compartment back in first year."  
  
At this Christian looked away, his eyes closed. He backed up to the armchair and fell into it once more, hearing Blaise's words yet not hearing them as well. Her choice of words were dug deep into him and burned his scarred heart. And by all means, her words were a direct blow to his ego. But only one who knew of their shared history would understand such a reaction.  
  
"And when I finally break through my shyness, when I finally work up the courage to confront him, I find him looking to her in the exact same way I looked at him! The only reason he loves her is because she got hurt and he thought it was his fault all because his father sent her that damned vial! It's pity that he feels for her, not love. It couldn't be love. Not it such a short time." She ended then, breathing hard. She coughed a little, her hand flying to her chest. Alarmed, despite her deranged ranting, Christian leapt to his feet, but she only waved him off. "No, I'm fine. It's just the cold air; I've always been sensitive to it." She took a few deep breaths and then looked back at him with a closed expression. He was looking down at the ground in a such a way that it suddenly made him look small and childlike.  
  
"Blaise," he said again, looking up to her. He stepped forward and took her hands in his. "Sweetheart. Do you really believe everything you just said to me?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"No, really. Is a Malfoy one to keep someone around simply out of pity? Do you honestly think that their love sprouted out of no where? He might have loved her all these years without knowing it--,"  
  
"No," Blaise interrupted. She flicked away a tear threatening to fall from her eyes. "No. No more of this. You're taking me on a guilt trip all because you 'got to know' Pansy."  
  
Christian tightened his hold on her hands. "Am I?" he asked. She looked up at him.  
  
"You're angry."  
  
"Three guesses why."  
  
She stepped away from him then, her helplessness gone in a flash. "I already told you, that was a long time ago."  
  
His jaw stiffened. "Not that long."  
  
"Long enough." She broke their contact and turned away then, heading for the stairs and her dorm room waiting at the top.  
  
"Wait a second. What am I supposed to do now?"  
  
Stopping at the foot of the stairs, Blaise turned to him, her look menacing and disturbed. "You do as I say."  
  
"But they love--,"  
  
"Then we'll break that love!"  
  
"How? We can't make them give it away."  
  
She rubbed her throat, the cold obviously unnerving her. "We won't do such a thing. We'll simply aid a process that was bound to happen anyway."  
  
His hand clenched itself into a fist. "Are you thinking what I know you're thinking?"  
  
"Maybe." She glared coldly at him. "What? Are you backing out on me?"  
  
Christian relaxed his hands. "Not at all," he replied, returning back to his off-handed and calm tone. "I just wanted to make sure you still knew what you were doing."  
  
Blaise looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, as if she had expected him to burn their deal and return to his home amongst the shadows. "Of course I know what I'm doing. You should know, we're of the same bloodline--,"  
  
"Go to bed then," Christian interrupted, waving his hand to her. "We'll discuss this in the morning." Without question, Blaise turned her back on him and hurried up the stairs and out of sight. As for Christian, he returned to his armchair once more, his mind dwelling on her last words. "We're of the same bloodline." He hadn't wanted her to continue for it was a memory he did not wish to relive.  
  
Because only one who knew of their shared times would understand such a reaction.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
*Pansy*  
  
To make up for my disregard of Draco, I promised to spend all of Sunday with him. In truth, I felt I had betrayed him by befriending Christian, although in what sense I hadn't the slightest clue. He had been the one who played the aggressive card while I stayed neutral. But details aside, the only one I wanted to see Sunday was Draco.  
  
The cold, winter's morning found us both in the privacy of my dorm room. Millicent had woken up early and disappeared before even I rose from my bed and neither of us ever heard Blaise come to bed. So I called Draco to my room and locked the door behind him. Oh, stop. Privacy can coincide with conversation just as well as anything else.  
  
I sat upon my bed, my Transfiguration homework spread before me, while Draco strolled around the room, exploring one thing after another. The soft snowfall outside had swiftly altered to a howling blizzard, and leaving the safety of my room was definitely out of the question. I had thought of going to the library to work, but I was afraid to run into Christian, even though I had been there countless times and failed to see him before.  
  
"How much do you still have to do?" Draco asked, standing next to Blaise's vanity and staring down at the contents. I looked up from my work and watched as he picked up an old fashioned perfume bottle.  
  
"Loads still," I said, looking back to my book and fiddling with my quill. "I don't understand Transfiguration."  
  
"Who does?" Draco mumbled, carefully examining the bottle. I shrugged.  
  
"Granger, I guess. Be careful of the bulb," I warned. He glanced back at me, not paying attention to what he was doing.  
  
"Be careful of the what?"  
  
I pointed with my quill. "The bulb. Don't hold the nozzle to your-- ," But it was too late. His nimble fingers had found the soft bulb of the bottle and sprayed his face with vile fragrance. He placed the thing back on the vanity and performed a mad attempt to rid himself of the smell.  
  
"Ah, bugger! What is that stuff?" he asked, fanning the air around him. I giggled.  
  
"Don't ask me. Millie and I have told her it's ghastly, but she wouldn't listen. She insists that it's enticing." Draco tossed me an appalling look, making me grin.  
  
"That poison? Enticing? You're joking; it's disgusting!"  
  
I nodded once to him and went back to my studies, allowing him to continue his exploration around the dorm. He proceeded to investigate, holding his silence so I may finish my task as soon as possible. But when he stumbled across the Christmas invitation lying across Blaise's dresser he couldn't help but voice his uncertainty.  
  
"I still don't like this," he said, staring down at the paper and frowning. "A gathering of purebloods, wands at the ready, and in an ancient fortress of exquisite strength. It would be ludicrous to think that nothing would go on. The question is what *is* going on."  
  
"Like they'd tell us," I muttered, scratching out a few things from my work. "They want to leave us in the dark and hope that we don't bump into a wall. They'll toss us a candle sooner or later, but that's all."  
  
"But whatever is it, Dumbledore knows about it. How does he always know about it?"  
  
"How else?" I responded, not really paying attention to the conversation. "It's Dumbledore."  
  
"No lies there." He paused for a bit, turning the invitation over in his hand and then back again. "So it's also obvious that we're to come in character to this thing. Have you given any thought to who you might be?"  
  
"No."  
  
He twiddled the invitation a little. "I don't exactly know much about Arthurian legend."  
  
"It's easy enough once you've got the basics down. But wouldn't you have known otherwise? Nobility names all derive from it." I dotted my last 'i' and set down my quill. I scanned the page for errors, fixed them, and then rolled up the parchment. "Done," I announced, already cleaning up my materials.  
  
"Good. Let's grab something to eat when your finished," Draco requested. I shrugged a yes. But as I began piling my books together Draco tossed the invitation back on the dresser. In doing so, he dislodged a small something that had been sitting in a small, silver box. It hit the floor with a soft ringing sound and broke open; and out rolled a small, garnet ring with a chain threaded through the band.  
  
"Draco," I said, leaning over the bed to look at the floor. "Look what you did now."  
  
"It's not broken," he said, kneeling down and picking up the silver box. He set it back onto the dresser.  
  
I got up from the bed and retrieved the ring. "And a good thing too. Blaise would kill you if this was ruined." We straightened up, both staring at the ring in my hand.  
  
"What is it?" he asked, walking over to me. I looked up at him.  
  
"What else? It's the family ring she always wears around her neck." I held it up to the light, letting the light catch the red of the stone. It really was a beautiful ring. The garnet stone was minute, the cut of it shaping the gem into a small, red rose. A bit of onyx filled the center and the rose rested upon a gleaming gold band. But in every case, it was no family ring.  
  
"Looks more like an engagement ring," Draco muttered, taking a hold of my wrist and turning the ring over and around. "And I can't remember a time when she ever took it off."  
  
"Neither can I," I said. I gently broke out of his grasp and walked back to Blaise's dresser. I set the ring into it's box and placed the lid on it. "I wouldn't have guessed that it could come off. She's always fiddling with it under her robes."  
  
"She's been acting strange. Let's just not question it further." He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder. "Now come on. I've waited all morning and now I'm starving."  
  
"Alright, alright," I said, smiling. "Grab my cloak for me and we'll go."  
  
*Draco*  
  
We barely made it to the Entrance Hall. We climbed the steps from the dungeons, both of us eagerly discussing the legend of Camelot when I spotted Granger standing outside of the Great Hall looking rather confused. I nudged Pansy with my elbow and pointed her out. We both fell into silence as we closed in on her, our Prefect badges gleaming in the gray sunlight.  
  
Just as we were approaching her, Granger turned her head to us. We seemed to be exactly what she was looking for. Her face lit up with the spark of certainty once more. But she had the decency to wait for our arrival instead of come running to us.  
  
"Professor Vector wants you Pansy," she said, looking sadly at Pansy and then at me. The use of a Slytherin's first name was weird enough without her sympathetic look. "She says its really important." She hung her head a little and began fiddling with her hands. Pansy shot me a strange look before addressing the subject.  
  
"Thanks Granger. I'll go to her right now." She turned to leave when the Mudblood shot her hand out and stopped her, her hand barely touching her arm. Pansy looked down at her hand and then back at her, her own eyes filled with fear. "What are you doing?" she asked. Granger stared at her hard.  
  
"Don't go," she said. I quickly jerked my head to stare at her in turn, the heat rising in my veins.  
  
"Why?" I asked rudely, not waiting for Pansy to ask the very same question. "What are you hiding?"  
  
"Nothing," she said, lowering her fingers. "Just-just trust me. I don't think you'd want to go." I flicked my gaze to Pansy, the fire alive in her eyes yet the heat of it absent. It was a mask to her confusion. Good girl.  
  
"Then why did you tell me to?" she asked, crossing her arms and staring at Granger. "Why give the message if you didn't want it received?"  
  
Hermione took a few steps away, clearing herself of our presence. "I'm not about to lie or keep secrets from you. At least now I can say I told you; but I don't think you should go."  
  
"Are you going to tell me why?"  
  
"I can't."  
  
Pansy caught my eye once more, the look of fear diminishing but the look of suspicions rising. "That's it. I'm gone. Draco, wait for me in the common room?"  
  
"Sure," I said, glaring at Granger and the horror on her face.  
  
"You're still going?" she blurted out. Pansy stared back at her.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But I told you--,"  
  
"-not to go. Yes, you did. But you failed to give me a reason why. No reason, no obedience. Now go; you've done what you have been asked." She was already halfway to the stairs when Hermione ran forward and grasped her wrist. In a flash I was behind her, my hand on her shoulder, my grasp firm. She let go abruptly.  
  
"Look, I'm just trying to do the right thing. If you have any care for yourself and your House, you won't go."  
  
"What does that mean?" I interrogated, jerking her shoulder violently. She remained silent to my brutality but Pansy shot me a strong look. I loosened my hold on her.  
  
"I'm not holding Houses between us. You two may be Slytherins and I may be a Gryffindor, but we're both people. If you can put your pride aside and listen to me, you might be able to save your skins."  
  
"This isn't about some message to Professor Vector, is it?" Pansy asked, anger building in her tone. It was definitely anger towards the situation, but Granger took it as anger upon herself. She shied away as Pansy stepped forward. "This has to do with whatever Professor Dumbledore told you, right?"  
  
Hermione gasped. "How did you know?"  
  
"You're not as quiet as you think you are," I spat from behind. Pansy silenced me with a wave of her hand.  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
Granger sighed heavily, the weight of such a problem getting to her. "I can't tell you anything. But I can warn you. Don't trust anyone. Don't trust each other. If couriers come, couriers know. Houses must stand together, and not fall divided. Your deal will seal your fate."  
  
They stared at each other for awhile, their physical appearances exact opposites. Where Pansy's hair was dark, Granger's was light. Where the Slytherin's eyes were black, the Gryffindor's wasn't. And Parkinson's face was hard as stone and a mask to emotion, while Granger's was exposed and full of fear and hope of understanding.  
  
"Does an explanation come with the riddle?" Pansy asked, obviously annoyed. Hermione could only shrug helplessly.  
  
"I promise you, that's all I can say. If I could, I'd explain it to you, but that would lead to telling you something. I can't tell you anything. I can only warn you."  
  
"Does Potter know about this?" I asked. She looked back and up at me, the defiance in her eyes unnerving.  
  
"I don't need his permission," she said. Her voice never sounded so cold.  
  
I looked up at Pansy, shrugging vaguely. "That means they don't know."  
  
"Don't know what, Malfoy?" came a strong, low voice from above. The three of us looked up into the stairway to see none other than Potter descending the marble steps, Weasley towering close behind.  
  
"Get your hands off her," Ron spat, hurrying forward. I released the Mudblood before he could even get near me, pushing her towards him.  
  
"Gladly. Just make sure you keep her on your side of the fence and off ours. We don't need warnings."  
  
Hermione glared back at me but I ignored her. I didn't care for her pointless riddles. I had no time for them.  
  
"Maybe you do," Potter hissed, coming up on the other side of Granger. "She came here because she actually cares about you, Malfoy. She cares about all Slytherins. Weasley and I are not as merciful as that. We actually didn't care if you knew or not."  
  
"Know what?" Pansy snapped, impatient to end this conversation, though sharing my passion to find out what it all meant. "She gave us a riddle and nothing more. We don't even know what she's trying to say."  
  
"She's telling you more than you know," Weasley injected, and I shot him a significantly crueler stare. I never liked him. Him, his red hair, and the fact that he had always been half an inch taller than me.  
  
"I don't admire her for warning you at all, but I do admire that she went against our judgment and did so. You'd do good by her to at least return the favor of kindness."  
  
"I didn't do anything to have the favor returned," Hermione said sharply to the other two. "And I didn't need your permission at all."  
  
"It doesn't matter. It was still honorable," Harry replied, avoiding her gaze and staring at me. I cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to give into his anger and strike me. He wouldn't.  
  
"Show some decency," Weasley growled.  
  
"Then I thank her," Pansy said stiffly. We all whipped our heads to her direction, surprise glowing in every eye.  
  
"What?" we all asked, the unison of such an action sickening to the ears. Pansy rolled her eyes and sat into one hip, one hand tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked straight ahead at Granger and no one else. "Thank you for the warning. I'd do you reverence, but I'm running late for a meeting with Professor Vector. I know you took risk in telling anything at all; not to mention that fact that we all hate each other. It was actually very brave, coming to two Slytherin's alone. You would have been outnumbered, had we been in harsh tempers. So I thank you.and I bid you a better day." She paused, staring at the three of them in turn. "Now get the hell out of here," she concluded.  
  
With one furtive glance between them and a push for Ron, the three headed for the Great Hall, their angry whispers already beginning before the doors had closed behind them.  
  
When they had gone I stared down at Pansy, lost for words. She only sighed heavily, her burden shed, and walked over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her head against my chest. "That was different," she whispered. I rubbed her shoulders absently, the warmth from her body thawing my frozen fingers.  
  
"Too different. I didn't like it; and you didn't have to thank her."  
  
"I wanted to."  
  
"I know."  
  
She held me tighter, her eyes squeezing shut as she breathed in the fragrance from my robes. "Don't trust anyone. Don't trust each other. If couriers come, couriers know. Houses must stand together, and not fall divided. Your deal will seal your fate." She repeated the words differently, each one slower than the first and with the air of dread hanging on every syllable. "I hate to admit it, but I think I understand some of what she said."  
  
"Care to explain?" I asked, completely lost in the dark.  
  
She stepped back from me then and yanked forcibly on my collar. I was about to yell out once again before her mouth found mine and I lost thought in her kiss. It was a harsh one though, her hand still grasping my neckline and the other clutching tightly to the hem of my shirt. She was so forceful, in fact, that she backed me up into a shadowed corner near the side of the stairwell. I didn't say anything for awhile, not having a complaint about anything. But when she began to tremble violently I broke contact, breathing hard.  
  
"Pansy, are you--," I started, but she interrupted me, her voice wavering dangerously.  
  
"I love you," she said, her tone uncertain. It was almost as if the words held her very life in them. "I love you so much."  
  
"As I you," I replied, staring into her eyes. But the vulnerability in her face was not eased. I moved my hands to hold her own then, the touch sending more flames through my spine than before. "Art thou mine?" I asked in Latin, speaking from ancient lore. She kissed me lightly.  
  
"I am thine." She spoke the response confidently, the shivers of unknown fear leaving her. "I'm sorry," she said. I shrugged, grinning at her.  
  
"Wasn't all bad from my point of view," I said. She smiled and held my hands tighter.  
  
"I better go. Professor Vector has waited long enough." She stared at the floor. "I promise I'll come back to you. In the common room. Before the clock strikes two."  
  
My grin faded away. "Do you expect me not to worry?" I asked. She leaned forward and kissed me gently on the cheek.  
  
"I wouldn't even dare you to," she whispered. "But at least trust me."  
  
"Okay." I gave her one more kiss before letting her hands fall from my own. "Go."  
  
"I'll return," she assured me, stepping out of the shadows and into the light. To this moment I curse the falsity of her words.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
Professor Vector was not in her classroom.  
  
As I headed down the familiar corridor the uneasy feeling filled my lungs once more. It first occurred when Hermione warned me of the faux message and then again when I repeated the words she had spoken to us. The feeling had been so haunting that I had the fleeting thought that I would lose Draco somehow. That the final words of her warning, 'your deal will seal your fate', spoke the truth of what was to come. I had thought that the deal I made with Lucius would come back to me and Draco would be the price I paid. It was a ridiculous thought, but a horrid one nonetheless.  
  
And now, as I took the final steps to the Arithmancy room, Granger's persistence of me not going tugged at my mind. Why would she take the time out of her life to stop me from going somewhere unless it was utterly important? The question pleaded with me to take heed and turn around, but my curiosity got the better of me.  
  
"Professor Vector?" I called leaning around the door jamb and looking into the room. My breath stopped. The Arithmancy instructor was definitely not there, but someone else stood at her desk. The boy looked up. A toss of shining black hair, cunning eyes, and a sly smile met my gaze. I instantly dropped my surprise and took up the sheen of confusion mixed with outrage.  
  
"Christian!" He nodded once in my direction, oblivious to the immediate anger in my voice. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I'm sorry; I wasn't aware that this classroom was forbidden," he answered, looking around himself, amused. I let his attempt at humor slide by.  
  
"Please tell me it wasn't you who sent that false message. And what more, you sent Hermione Granger-a *Gryffindor*--to deliver such a note!"  
  
He stared hard at me, the joy gone from his eyes. "I'm afraid you wrongly accuse me. I sent no message with a Gryffindor." He lifted his chin defiantly. "I do not converse with such students."  
  
I reddened quickly, stepping into the room. "Sorry. I didn't mean to jump to conclusion. Forgive me, please."  
  
He shrugged, rolling up a small piece of parchment that had been lying on the table in front of him. "I pray you, do not apologize. I couldn't bear it." He flashed me a grin and I quickly loosened to the friendship.  
  
"Thanks," I muttered. I inhaled deeply and sat myself on a nearby desk. "So what are you doing here?" I asked. Christian tied the scroll closed and tucked it into the inside of his robe.  
  
"I was helping Professor Vector with a few of her papers. I've been her student for four years." He skirted around the desk, walking towards me. "She did send for you though. Miss Granger was in here to discuss her progress with the Professor when she noticed something on one of your papers. Don't worry, it's nothing bad. She just wanted to talk with you. So she sent your fellow Prefect to call you here. Low and behold, she was called out herself by the Deputy Headmistress. Thus, she had me wait here for you to deliver the message."  
  
He stopped before me and stared with his darkly clear eyes. I leaned away slightly, the intensity of his gaze unnerving. Why such a penetrating look if he was speaking the truth? The unease returned to me, although my will to trust this boy overpowered it.  
  
"Papers, huh?" I asked, shaking my head and staring at the ground. "The way Granger told me it I assumed it was something much more important than my schoolwork." I looked up at him again, the suspicion visible on my face. "Is that the message she left you with? That my schoolwork interests her? Hardly seems significant enough for a messenger. She could have just told me during lessons tomorrow."  
  
I thought I saw a flicker of panic cross his face, but he quickly covered it by clearing his throat and looking down. "Pansy, do you really think I understand the ways of teachers? She gave me my orders and left right away. Maybe there was something more, maybe not. Either way, I wasn't informed about it." He looked back at me then, the innocence gleaming from his eyes. "Do I look like a person who would deceive you?" he pouted a bit, grinning sadly. I couldn't help it. I laughed with him and shook my head, smiling.  
  
"Not likely," I admitted, avoiding his gaze. "You're too pathetic." He only shrugged. I gathered my legs under me and covered them with my skirt, the chill air stinging my legs. Something still gnawed at my mind. "But why was Granger so worried then?" I said, speaking more to myself than to Christian. He shook his head.  
  
"That, I cannot say. She looked fine when she left here. Although.now that I recall it, she didn't like me very much. I wonder why?" He looked around in mock thoughtfulness. I smiled, despite my reluctance to believe his tale.  
  
"Alright then, I believe you. But if your message is simply about paperwork, I think it can wait until tomorrow." I hopped off the desk and began heading for the door. My thoughts had already turned over to Draco, wondering if he was in the common room yet or still in the Great Hall. I made a quick glance to my watch and held a gasp before it escaped me. Two hours had past and the third was disappearing fast. Two o'clock had been lost an hour earlier, leaving Draco sixty minutes of worry.  
  
"Anything wrong?" Christian asked, coming up behind me and looking down at my watch. "Hmm. Nice device. I love the embedding of your family crest in the background."  
  
"Time couldn't have passed so quickly," I muttered, staring at the time and remaining in denial. "It hasn't been thirty minutes." I looked back at Christian. "How long has it been?"  
  
He glanced to his side, taking in the calculations from an odd- looking hour glass on Vector's desk. "Since you've arrived I'd have to say that all of two hours have completely past and a third is almost lost as well." He looked at me, completely unfazed by the race in time. "Didn't you know?" he asked, staring peculiarly at me. I shrugged, helpless.  
  
"I don't know. I've never gone so blank before." I shook my head, backing towards the door. "I better go," I said, opening the door behind my back. "I'm sorry Christian, but Draco will be worried about me."  
  
He seemed to understand. He smiled good-naturedly and nodded, his hands tucking into his pockets. "To those we promise ourselves intend to keep it so," he said. I grinned. "Hurry to him then," he said, sketching a salute to me. "I will not blame him for his worry."  
  
"Thank you," I said, and left through the door, smiling despite the horrid feeling of betrayal that I suddenly felt. I turned towards the corridor and hurried through it, thinking of a way to make Draco understand of my prolonged absence. Had I been paying attention, I would have taken heed to the faint echo of bitter laughter instead of disregarding it as just another of Peeves awful pranks.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"Draco," someone said from behind. "What are you doing?"  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I snapped. I raised my wand hand again and pointed it to the chandelier hanging over me. With a soft flick yet another candle burst into flames; soft sparks fell from it and dissolved before they could come near me.  
  
"You look like an angry child," Blaise said, leaning over the back of the sofa and gazing down at me. I didn't recognize her at first by her voice. It was unnaturally gentle and kind, two words that I never used to associate with a Zabini.  
  
I looked up at her, my eyes blank yet my heart an angry mass of fire. "Wah," I replied monotonously, glaring at her. She sighed and straightened, walking over to the armchair beside me and settling down.  
  
I lay across the length of the sofa, the chatter of the Slytherin common room ignoring my anger rant. One of my legs was draped over the back of the sofa while the other lazed on the far armrest. The damn thing wasn't even long enough to hold me.  
  
I had been lying there for over an hour, stealing glances from the grandfather clock as the day disappeared. Two hours past noon had come and gone, and still I waited for the only person I wanted to see. My boredom and worry soon transformed into irritation mixed with disappointment, a combination I wasn't used to. So to settle my raging spirits, I resolved to blowing up the ancient Slytherin chandelier one candle sconce at a time.  
  
"You do know that if Professor Snape sees that he's going to kill you?" Blaise pointed out, irritated by my childish behavior. Actually, everyone in the common room was irritated with my state, but she was the only one willing to admit it.  
  
"No he won't," I shot back, combusting two more candles. "He'll never know."  
  
"And how do you expect to cover a disaster like that?" she interrogated. I turned my head to her and arched an eyebrow.  
  
"How do you think?" I asked.  
  
There was a moment of silence then, one in which Blaise threw her arms up at me, indicating that she had no idea what I was talking about. But then a small, raven-haired fourth year girl passed between us, reading a book as she went and granting us no acknowledgement whatsoever. But as she passed, she pulled out her wand, pointed it to the chandelier, and muttered something under her breath. Instantly, the mutilated candles restored themselves and the ancient antique looked untouched and undisturbed. The girl returned her wand to her robes, having done all this without taking her eyes away from her book and without stopping her quick steps.  
  
"You're ridiculous, you know that?" Blaise said, rather disgusted with what had just happened. "It's madness! Everyone around you will always clean up after you, whether you say so or not. You could murder half the school with a single curse and none of the teachers would be the wiser. Why? Because all of Slytherin House would have concocted some way to bring every last life back just so you won't get in trouble. It's like- it's like your some sort of."  
  
"God," Millicent broke in, staring down at me from behind Blaise's seat. "You look horrible."  
  
"Thank you, Bulstrode. Always a reverence from you, isn't it?" I answered, smiling cheekily at her. She flashed a grin just as false as mine and then broke into a solid laugh.  
  
"Damn it boy, you're green all over!"  
  
"Huh?" I asked, looking at her with lazy eyes. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you over your insolent jabber!" I nestled back into the cushions then, refusing to look at her knowing face any longer. My actions only seemed to fan her flame of humor.  
  
"That's alright then, Malfoy. I'll take anything you can throw at me. Besides, who am I to chide a jealous man like yourself? You're not used to sharing your things." She strode away then, laughing heartily as she went. I knew she meant no harm in her words. When would she have the need? No one took Millicent's comments as a challenge, one need only to feel her blows to know if she meant to begin a dispute.  
  
"Oh," Blaise suddenly sprang up, looking at me with a mischievous grin. "Pining for Parkinson are we?"  
  
I let out a bitter laugh at her words. "I'm not pining," I replied; although even I was not convinced it was true. "I'm just sick of waiting, that's all."  
  
"Then why are you waiting?" She got up from her seat and knelt at my side, staring at me with innocent eyes. I returned her stare.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She shifted her weight, never removing her brilliant green eyes from my face. "Where did Pansy go?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. I lifted myself to my elbows and looked down at her.  
  
"To Professor Vector," I answered.  
  
"And what does Professor Vector teach?" she pressed. I shot a confused look.  
  
"You know what Vector te--,"  
  
"Play along," she said. I abided.  
  
"She teaches Arithmancy."  
  
Blaise's eyes lit up. "Exactly. She teaches *Arithmancy*. Arithmancy, Draco. That is probably the longest and most haphazard subject there is, next to History of Magic."  
  
I wrinkled my nose, not truly understanding her motives. "And I care about this because.?"  
  
"Think about it," she said. "Pansy's probably just going over some work with Vector and it's taking a lot longer than anyone anticipated. It happens; so stop worrying over her. She's perfectly fine. The most that could happen to her is that she learns more than she thought she would."  
  
I couldn't help but smile at her remark. "Yeah, I guess you're right." But I still refused to move. She sighed, frustrated.  
  
"That's not what you're fussing over, is it?" she asked. I didn't respond. "Oh. I see. So Bulstrode's right, you are jealous."  
  
"Shut up," I hissed, turning away from her.  
  
"Who are you jealous of? It's just a teacher."  
  
"I'm not jealous of the teacher, alright?" I snapped, quickly regretting my outburst. Blaise raised her eyebrows.  
  
"Ah, so you admit it then. Hmm." She sat at the edge of the sofa and leaned over me, one arm supporting her weight. I refused to look into her face. I didn't want her to know that she was right. "Did Pansy meet someone lately? Someone like.a boy?"  
  
I looked up at her sharply. "How did you know that?" I asked. She shrugged, grinning slyly.  
  
"Woman's intuition," she said. I only grumbled moodily. Blaise nudged my shoulder, jumping to her feet. "Come on then! What are you waiting for?"  
  
I turned around and glared up at her. She was hopping from one foot to the other, having struck up her excitement almost instantly. "I already told you, I'm waiting for Pansy."  
  
Blaise shot me an annoyed look. "Draco, get up off your arse! Get out and do something. Come on a sleigh ride across the lake with Nott and me. We'll be back in time to meet Pansy and we'll all go down to dinner together. What do you say to that?" She stared at me with hopeful eyes.  
  
I sat up and looked down at my hands. I held my silence only a little while longer before I answered her. "On a sleigh ride just across the lake? And we'd be in time to meet Pansy?"  
  
She smiled jovially and knelt down once more. "I'll do you one better. Let's go find her and take her along with us. It will be the four of us, spending time together...like it should be."  
  
I looked up at her then and felt the nasty feelings of guilt surface. I hadn't realized, until that moment, that I had greatly neglected the people I called 'friends' all year long. My top priority, the one who owned all my focus, and the only person who held my gaze was Pansy. I had selfishly pushed the others aside into the shadows.  
  
And to make things worse, I was the only one who had done so. Pansy had kept her friendships true and strong, giving everyone the attention they deserved and overlooking no one. She had made exceptional time for Millicent, kept the good air between her and Blaise fresh, been overly generous to Crabbe and Goyle, held the warm respect with the elusive Darius Nott, and maintain a clean acquaintance with the rest of the house. She had done all this while I simply ignored everyone all together.  
  
"Thanks Blaise," I said quietly, rising from the sofa. "But Pansy is needed elsewhere. I'd be happy to join you and Nott on an excursion."  
  
The light in Blaise's eyes only grew brighter as she rose to her feet. "Are you sure?" she asked. I nodded, stretching my arms and pocketing my wand.  
  
"Positive." In the back of my mind I knew that Pansy would want me to go. She would find a million different reasons to support her decision while I wasted time by saying no. In the end, she would have won and I would have been grateful in the end anyway.  
  
"You'll have fun. I promise," Blaise assured me. "Let me just grab my cloak and Darius and we'll be on our way." With a squeeze of my arm she departed, hurrying up the stairs and out of sight. My own cloak was thrown over the back of the sofa and I shrugged it on now. Before I had started school my mother gave me a silver cloak badge shaped in an old, Celtic symbol. I wore it now, fastening it on my shoulder, just as she had done the day of my departure. After making sure it was secure and checking that my wand was safe, I sat myself down on the edge of the armrest of the chair and waited for Blaise. I stared around the common room, taking in the regular furnishings and adornments that I had seen for the last six years. But when my eyes reached the entranceway, I froze.  
  
Cloaked in shadow, with her arms crossed over her chest and eyes locked onto mine, was Millicent. The look she wore was that of intense gravity and I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. We stared at each other for a long time before she did something very odd. She raised her hand before her face, did the old, pagan sign against enchantment, and then pointed directly at me. With that done, she turned on her heel and stalked away. I glared after her, wondering what in hell did any of that mean.  
  
*  
  
"Uncle Bernard of my mother's line; twelfth generation second uncle, twice removed," Darius said, grinning at me as the snow settled in his black hair. I waved my hand lazily, pushing his remark aside.  
  
"Great aunt Alienor on my mother's side; second generation, thrice removed, thrice been dead," I countered. Darius raised his arms in surrender, laughing along with Blaise and I as he did so.  
  
"And I claim defeat," he said, lowering his arms. "How do you explain that one?"  
  
"They mistook her small case of narcolepsy at the end of her life as an evil omen," I answered. Darius howled with laughter. I smiled and looked up into the sky, the white of snowflakes obscuring my vision.  
  
The three of us sat in one of the many magnificent sleighs of Hogwarts, a white mare pulling us merrily across the lake, and the soft snowfall creating a curtain all around us. We were half way across the lake, the bells on the mare jingling quietly in the background. I was at peace, if you could believe such a thing. It was the first time in a long time that I had gone out without Pansy, and I hadn't noticed how much I missed it.  
  
And to pass the time, Nott and I had engaged in an old game we used to play back in first and second year. We would try to outdo the other by tracing our way through our family trees and picking out the oddest, most outrageous relatives we could muster. At the moment, we were at a tie.  
  
"It's been a long time since I'd laughed like that," he said, leaning back and watching me. We sat across from each other, his back to the retreating castle, and Blaise sitting closely to his right. "And only you had a lineage awkward enough for such humor. Where have you been, Malfoy?" he asked, smiling good-naturedly. I shrugged, looking behind him at the frosted castle.  
  
"I've been around; it's just been awhile since I went out," I replied.  
  
"Ah," he answered, glancing sideways at Blaise. "Pansy, I presume?" he asked, winking at her. She giggled behind her hand. Inside me my heart twisted threateningly and I clenched my fist against the urge to suddenly blast his arse back to the school.  
  
"You presume too much," I answered coolly, scowling at him. He took my anger with a shake of his head.  
  
"Don't get me wrong man; I hold no stone against you. She's quite the catch." He paused then, taking his sweet time to dust the snow from his shoulders. "Clever. Quick. Controlling. All the traits of a true pureblood and she holds each and every one of them." He nodded to me, spreading his arms wide to indicate he brought no offense and that he openly surrendered. I waved my hand before me, taking his surrender into acknowledgement.  
  
"Nice save," I muttered, still reluctant to drop my defenses. He shrugged, looking over towards the Forbidden Forest.  
  
"But really though-I like her. She's cool." His gaze flicked back at me again, the curiosity hard to miss. "So--.how far have you two gotten?" he asked, a grin creeping its ugly self onto his face. Next to him Blaise tried to fight against her own smile. I arched an eyebrow at both of them.  
  
"What do you mean 'how far have we gotten'?" I repeated venomously. Nott crossed his legs and glanced up into the sky.  
  
"Don't play innocent, Malfoy. It never works for you." He stretched his arms out before wrapping one around Blaise's shoulders. They both stared at me intently. "So really; how far have you gone with her?"  
  
I scowled at him. "How far do you think?" I snapped. This peaceful sleigh ride was quickly turning into a teen-angst hell.  
  
Darius and Blaise glanced at each other before turning grave faces in my direction. I almost laughed at the implication they gave. Key word there is 'almost'.  
  
"No," I said with a very final tone. Darius tilted his head.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"No as in, 'no, I won't answer'? Or no as in, 'no, we haven't'?"  
  
My shoulders stiffened and I closed my eyes against the building rage inside of me. "No.we haven't."  
  
He stared dumbly at me. "Are you serious?" he asked, completely flabbergasted. My eyes flew open and I'm almost positive that my jaw dropped.  
  
"Would I lie?" I exclaimed. The horse faltered a little at my outburst, but soon calmed and continued our journey.  
  
"You can't be serious!" Darius said, smiling nervously at me. "How many years have you two known each other and you still haven't done it?!"  
  
I'm pretty sure I was thoroughly appalled at this point. "Oh, right! And this coming from the Virgin Sex God," I cried. Nott blushed horribly at the comment but did not cease his interrogation.  
  
"Well, I've never known a girl as long as you've known Parkinson. So why haven't you? Isn't she good enough for you?"  
  
"Will you just shut up?" I hissed, turning away from him. It didn't work.  
  
"Haven't you ever wanted to? I mean, she can't be all that bad."  
  
"She's everything you'll never have and more, Nott."  
  
Darius looked mildly surprised. "Really? Ah, well, Malfoy's do like the best, don't they?"  
  
If I could, I'd tell you that I heard the faintest 'click' in the back of my head; but that would be a lie. I could hear nothing over the horrible rushing in my ears. "If you value your life, Nott, you'll shut the hell up."  
  
He didn't. Big surprise. "I just don't get you sometimes. Here you have the most successful relationship of any Slytherin, damn me if I'm wrong, and you let the opportunity slip you by. If I had Pansy within my grasp, I'd take advantage of every moment I--."  
  
Before I knew it, my wand had jumped into my hand and I was on my feet, the tip of the dark wood pointing directly at Nott's chest. He suddenly flew up from his seat with a small yelp before landing, sprawled eagle, on the frozen surface of the lake.  
  
"You should have listened," I said, staring back at him as the sleigh continued to move. He pushed himself up and watched as we calmly trotted into the distance. Blaise had twisted around in her seat to watch him, though she did not look at all fazed.  
  
"You're just going to leave me out here?" Nott called, struggling to his feet. I shrugged.  
  
"I warned you."  
  
"It's a mile back to the castle!" he screamed, watching us indignantly. "This stupid snow will freeze the shit out of me!"  
  
In response I flashed him a very crude sign with my hand before falling back into my seat. I looked over at Blaise who had also turned her back on our dear friend Darius.  
  
"He went too far," she said. My spirits lightened at the sincerity of her tone. I smiled at her, glad that she had not joined him in downsizing Pansy.  
  
"Could you get the reins, darling?" I asked, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. "I think its time we went back."  
  
She obediently leaned forward to steer the mare back towards the castle, on a different route that would take us over the lake and very far from Nott. We were both quiet on our journey back, the soft sound of the horse's hooves hypnotizing us both into a deep peace.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I lay in my bed that night staring up into my canopy and knowing that sleep wouldn't come easily.  
  
Maybe it was the strange way Draco was reluctant to give details on his sleigh ride with Blaise and Darius Nott, or maybe it was the dead glint in his grey eyes. It could have been the way he was extremely gentle when he held my hand, or the fierce way he kissed me in the shadows of his dorm room. Whatever it was, it was strange; and I didn't do well with strange.  
  
Because of my nasty unease, I decided to just get out of bed and put things right once more. Maybe then I'd be able to sleep. Just my luck that it was Sunday evening and lessons would start again the next day.  
  
As quietly as I could I reached up and slipped back the hangings on my bed. I pulled back my covers and snuck out of bed, sliding my slippers onto my feet. I snatched my robe up and shrugged it on, tip-toeing across the room in the eerie silence. Thankfully, the curtains on both Millicent and Blaise's beds remained closed. I left my dorm room without a backward glance.  
  
As I walked down the short hall towards the boy's dormitories I passed the stairway leading to the common room. A faint light came tumbling up the steps from below and I faltered a little. The fire was usually diminished to nothing but embers at this time of night. Shrugging away the oddness of it, I continued my way to Draco's dorm.  
  
With the stealth of many months of practice, I crept into his room and over to his bed. Making sure Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were sound asleep, I opened his hangings and stared down at him.  
  
It was amazing what a simple thing such as sleep could do to a person. Draco looked nothing like he did when he was awake, walking amongst us like as a silent shadow, conversing only when the world turned its back. Before me lay the pale silhouette of a man, every aspect of him flipped to the opposite of what he was. His face, usually hardened into a blank mask, now softened in the darkness, his brow no longer furrowed in worry. His white-gold hair was no longer slicked back but sent awry with the usual tumbles of sleep, and the small silver of moonlight sent his skin into white fire. He slept as he always had done, one arm flung over his eyes while the other was sprawled wherever it landed. I had asked him why he always remained like this in slumber. "I don't like to see my nightmares", he had said, sitting in the rose garden and watching the twilight. I let the subject be after that.  
  
As gently as I could, I sat on top of his covers and pulled my legs up under me, closing the hangings once more. I waited a little longer after that, basking in the solitude created by the fabric walls. But then the apprehension from before rekindled itself and I reached forward to disturb the peace.  
  
"Draco," I whispered, lifting his arm from his face and setting it down softly. "Draco, wake up."  
  
He mumbled quietly, shifting a bit, but otherwise remained sleeping. I smiled. I knew exactly how to wake him up.  
  
I moved myself so that I lay on my stomach, by body fitting nicely next to his. Resting on my elbows, I pulled the covers away from his chin, the smoothness of his neck and collar revealing themselves in the night. Leaning forward, I kissed him gently at the hollow of his neck.  
  
"Draco," I repeated, barely above a whisper. He arched his back a bit, mumbling again. I grinned and kissed him just under the edge of his cheek. He let out a shuddering breath, but still did not wake. "Draco, please wake up." He did not respond. I traced the line of his collarbone with one finger, the coldness of my skin contrasting with the warmth of his own. Breathing softly, I circled the small dip at the base of his throat before placing a tender kiss upon it.  
  
"Mmm," he groaned, turning on his side and closing me in his arms. "I think I've caught an angel tonight," he muttered, his eyes still closed but a smile on his lips. I tried not to laugh at his cheesy remark. It was not often that one could get a line like that out of him.  
  
"Open your eyes, Draco. I want to talk to you about something."  
  
In response, he claimed my lips with his and kissed me with a calm passion, his hands holding the small of my back. "Can't it wait?" he asked, speaking against my mouth. I smiled, kissing him back.  
  
"Not likely," I said. I pushed him a little and we rolled together as one so that I lay across him. I broke away and looked down at him, my dark hair falling around my face. He stared back at me with a tired grin and half-lidded eyes. He reached up and twirled a lock of my hair around his finger.  
  
"I thought as much."  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked. His forehead wrinkled in confusion.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"What's wrong?" I repeated. "When I came back you were acting- differently. It was weird."  
  
"Was it?" he asked, his voice unnaturally high. I saw something odd flicker in his eyes, but I hadn't the time to decipher it.  
  
"What happened while I was gone? Did Blaise or Darius say anything to you?" But he was already shaking his head before I had even finished speaking.  
  
"It has nothing to do with them," he said. His tone was not reassuring. "Damn, you're beautiful," he suddenly whispered, his eyes raking my face. I arched an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Very romantic," I muttered sarcastically as his hand traveled from my hair down to my neck and shoulder. "Especially the part where you exaggerated."  
  
He followed his hands as they traced lines down my arms. "I'm not exaggerating."  
  
I couldn't help the cynical laugh that escaped me. "Sometimes I think you love me too much to see the truth." I smiled gently as he thoroughly ignored my bitterness and leaned forward to kiss my neck. "You know, I think I've found the perfect match for Blaise; not that I'm saying that she doesn't have her pick of partners. World knows she's the prettiest girl in our year--,"  
  
"I don't want to hear about Blaise," he whispered huskily. "I only care about you."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Well, at least I know that you're feeling better." I withheld my shudder as his breath tickled against my skin. "I better get to bed," I forced out, slowly pushing myself back up. "It's getting late."  
  
"No," Draco said, his hands on my waist and pulled me back down. "Stay with me," he almost laughed. I sighed.  
  
"Draco, we have lessons tomorrow."  
  
"I don't care." He softly pushed me onto the bed and leaned over me. His fingers pulled the side of my shirt down and he kissed my bare shoulder. The sensation spread through me like wild fire, but I fought the urge to kiss him back.  
  
"Draco, come on. We have to get up early! I don't want to be late for classes." Frustration getting the better of me, I reached up to push him away. To my immense surprise and utter horror, he gripped my wrist and forced my arm back down, his other hand working the buttons on my shirt. "Draco," I said tentatively, my breathing becoming rapid and my heart racing. He ignored me as he continued to brand me with his kisses, my throat burning with them. He had already freed my first button and was working on my second. "Draco," I said more forcefully than before. I didn't want to believe that he was doing this. He wouldn't do this!  
  
"I love you, Pansy," he whispered, his face traveling lower. "I love you." His hands slid to the third button. The bitter cold of panic quickly left me only to be replaced by the heat of anger and fury.  
  
"Draco, stop!" I wrenched my arm from his grasp and pushed him back, sitting up as I did so. I was breathing hard now, beads of sweat sprinkling my brow. I stared at him indignantly, the top of my shirt revealing the thin slip I wore underneath.  
  
Draco, himself, looked utterly appalled at what he had just done. He knelt across from me, a look of horrible repulsion coming to his face. "Oh God," he breathed, backing away and shaking his head. "Oh God. Pansy.Pansy, I'm so sorry.Ah.shit." He turned then, yanking the hangings aside and jumping off the bed. He walked briskly to the window and back, his pacing nervous and the moonlight casting him in a silhouette. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Damn them all! Pansy.I didn't mean to.I'm so sorry."  
  
"Draco," I answered gently. My anger had quickly shattered at the first look of horror on his face. "Draco, it's okay. It's okay; I forgive you. You would never hurt me."  
  
"I almost did!" he snapped, glaring hard at me. But as his eyes met mine I saw the face of a broken man. He crumbled then, staggering against the bed before sliding to the floor and leaning his head against the soft linens. "I don't deserve you," he said, his voice close to tears yet his eyes no where near such a thing. "I don't deserve you."  
  
I buttoned my shirt and crawled across the bed, falling to my knees on the floor next to him. "Don't say that," I said, reaching forth to hold his hand. He recoiled from my touch, his eyes turned away from me.  
  
"I almost hurt you," he said.  
  
"But you didn't."  
  
"Only because you stopped me."  
  
I shook my head, my hair flying around my face. "You're stronger than me! You could have gone on if you wanted to, but you let me push you away. You stopped yourself." I ignored his flinching and took his hand in mine. "Draco, look at me."  
  
Very slowly, he turned his face towards mine. The sorrow and guilt and regret that I saw there was unbearable, and my heart almost broke at such a look.  
  
"I didn't mean to," he told me quietly. "I don't know what came over me."  
  
I reached forward and cradled his head against my chest, my fingers stroking his hair. His traumatized breathing calmed and he closed his eyes. I leaned my cheek against his hair, my heart slowing its rapid beat. Something strange had definitely happened to him while I was gone, for this was not the Draco I knew. Something strange had gotten into him and had tainted his vision, hiding the Malfoy I loved. Something strange had changed him, and I didn't do well with strange.  
  
*  
  
That week went by slowly. I barely had time to talk with Draco at all. We each had one class separate, so that wasn't so odd; but all our other classes were together, yet all I was able to do was glimpse at Draco now and then. Our teachers had rearranged the seating charts in every class so that we sat across the room from one another every period. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner we would each barely step into the Great Hall when a teacher or fellow Prefect came up to us with another errand to run. And it was almost like the professors took turns holding us back in class just so the other could be swept into the bustle of passing period and disappear from sight.  
  
Evenings weren't much better. When I was in the common room, Draco was still out on a task or already sleeping, the added weight of errands a hazard on both of us; or else vice versa. Mornings were useless, as we never seemed to wake in the morning in sync anymore. It was almost as if the world didn't want us together.  
  
Needless to say that I never had a chance to talk with Draco about what happened Sunday night. We had both fallen asleep at the side of his bed, his head cradled in my lap as I lay across his side. I had woken up early and quickly fled the room, not wanting the others to wake up and get the wrong idea. After that, I never exchanged another word with Draco for an entire week that consisted of seven long, drudging days.  
  
But on the last day.Friday.something happened that changed everything. Something happened that erased the lonely Mondays and Wednesdays. Something happened that will brand my memory forever and years forth. Something awful happened on Friday, December 16. 


	16. The Ways of Betrayal

Chapter Sixteen ~ The Ways of Betrayal  
  
*Draco*  
  
"Isn't she good enough for you? Haven't you ever wanted to? I mean, she can't be all that bad. If I had Pansy within my grasp, I'd take advantage of every moment I--."  
  
"Stop!" I cried, jumping to my feet.  
  
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pince asked, her tone thoroughly annoyed and her hawk-like eyes narrowed in agitation. She stood across the table from me, a large pile of books in her arms and her wand stuck into her tightly-knotted hair.  
  
I stared at her for a moment, the slow recollection of where I was coming back to me. I looked around and saw that I was in the library, my Ancient Runes work spread across the table, and Blaise sitting, wide-eyed, at my side. I was in the castle, not out on the lake during a horrendous sleigh ride.  
  
"Sorry," I muttered, falling back into my seat. Madame Pince glared at me before continuing on her way, flapping a hand at the other students who had stood up to see what had happened and returning them back to their work. I bent my head low in embarrassment, pulling the quill that I had thrown back into my hand and staring fixedly at my parchment.  
  
"Draco?" Blaise asked, staring worriedly at me. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
I took in a deep and shuddering breath. "Yeah," I said. She let me be.  
  
It had been this way the entire week. Since Sunday, tormenting me through Monday; gnawing at me Tuesday; nagging at me Wednesday, and now haunting me this horrid Thursday evening. No matter what I did, I couldn't get Nott's words out of my head. They were torture.  
  
And worse over, it was because of his words that made me act the way I did towards Pansy. The entire time she lay next to me I kept hearing his voice. "Isn't she good enough for you? Haven't you ever wanted to? I'd take advantage of every moment---." And it drove me.viciously. Which on its own part was shameful enough. To know that I *listened* to the arrogant moron wasn't in my character. I was born to not think or take heed to any thoughts that weren't my own - or my father's. And yet, Nott's voice kept echoing in my head, driving me to pin her to the bed, disregarding her protests, coming close to hurting her.  
  
"Draco!"  
  
I snapped out of my stupor and looked at Blaise. Her head leaned heavily against her hand, her eyes half-lidded and her expression tired. "Welcome back to earth," she muttered sarcastically. I looked down at my books, hiding a blush.  
  
"Sorry," I apologized. She answered with a long, weary yawn.  
  
"Draco, we've been translating ancient runes for over an hour and a half and the most you've said was 'sorry' just right now. It's almost eight o'clock and this project is due tomorrow!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry Blaise. I just." I stared down at my textbook and slammed it shut. "I can't do this. I need to get back to the common room. I need to talk to Pansy." I shoved my belongings into my bag and jumped to my feet, slinging the strap over my shoulder. To my surprise, Blaise did not object.  
  
"Alright. I'm too tired to continue anyway." She, too, began to put away her things. "Want me to walk with you?"  
  
"No, I'll be fine," I answered.  
  
Blaise stood up, flipping her candy-apple hair over her shoulder. "Positive?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She shrugged. "Okay. You go on then; I'm just going to grab some books before we leave. I'll see you tomorrow." She touched my arm lightly before smiling and turning away. Again, I felt the pangs of guilt for ignoring her. I watched her disappear behind a row of shelves before leaving the library myself.  
  
It was strange, but I had spent more time with Blaise than I had with Pansy all week. Not that we hadn't tried. It just seemed that the world didn't want us to be together. But in loosing her, I gained a remarkably close friend. Zabinis aren't exactly known to be kind-hearted and understanding. They like to fall into the categories of silent, sinister, and ruthless. But Blaise had taken my anger and regret of not seeing the one I loved, and accepted it, listening to me when I ranted on and on about random subjects and taking my nightmare-filled silence patiently. What I loss in the absence of Pansy, I gained in the sympathetic Blaise.  
  
I turned the corner and cantered onward, leaning my head back and sighing deeply. It would be a miracle if I found Pansy before I feel asleep. I almost gave in and began heading for a nearby bench to rest on, but the thought of hearing her voice again pulled the desire of rest from my thoughts. I pressed on.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"Thanks, Christian," I said, walking into the common room and waving back at him. He only nodded solemnly, smiling.  
  
"Always a pleasure," he said, and then turned around and headed out for dinner. I, myself, was in no shape for a journey to the Great Hall.  
  
I dragged myself through the empty common room and towards the welcoming sofa. I fell, face down, onto it, my muscles screaming in protest. My limbs hurt, my fingers ached, my back throbbed, and even my eyes burned horribly. I didn't want to believe that I had just come from Professor Binns' classroom, having 'assisted' him in hauling stacks of homework into his filing closet. Assist my arse. Ghosts' can't exactly touch anything physical. He simply floated there and warned me if the papers were going to fall. Luckily, Christian and been passing by the door and offered to help me.  
  
"Hey, did anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like my good friend Parkinson? Only, you look a lot more wretched than she does. Plus, she doesn't have those gorgeous bags under her eyes," someone piped from above me.  
  
"Hello Millie," I said, my voice becoming muffled as I spoke into the cushions. She grinned as I turned on my back and leaned against the head rest. "And no, I've never been told before. Personally, I see no resemblance. That Parkinson is far too beautiful to be compared to plain, old me." We laughed together. "What time is it?" I asked.  
  
"Bad task today?" she asked when the laughter subsided. I nodded, kneading my knuckles into the small of my back. "By the way, it's a quarter to eight."  
  
"Binns."  
  
Millicent rolled her eyes. "Boring in death as he was in life." I shrugged in agreement.  
  
"But it wasn't so bad. Christian came in an hour later and offered to help me." At the mention of my seventh year companion, Millicent's face lost all traces of humor. She looked gravely at me before glancing at the entrance. It was deserted, of course, but it definitely held the traces of his presence.  
  
"So I saw," she mumbled, scowling at the opening. I looked at her.  
  
"So I take it you don't like him?" I asked. She snorted disapprovingly.  
  
"Never have and never will."  
  
I sat up straighter. "You've known him before?" I questioned. She shrugged, sitting on the backrest of the sofa.  
  
"Yeah, I've known him. All the way back since first year. Never met him of course. The bloke's too caught up in sulking in shadows to make any real friends." She gave off a bitter laugh then. "Maybe he only likes his own blood," she murmured, speaking more to herself than she was to me. I brushed the remark away.  
  
"Odd. I don't think I've ever seen him before this month--,"  
  
"You wouldn't have," Millie injected, but I continued on.  
  
"- and he's been nothing but kind and civil towards me. He can't be all that bad, even if he's a lurker." I leaned forward to peel off my robes, throwing the black material on the floor and rolling up the sleeves of my sweater.  
  
When I looked back at Millicent she was staring down at the ground with a solemn expression on her face, her eyes set into an intense sort of rage.  
  
"Pansy," she said, not looking up. "How often have you run into Machiavelli this past week?" she asked. I titled my head, trying to recall the numerous amount of times we had 'accidentally' bumped into each other during the last six days.  
  
"I think I've seen him three times a day now. Maybe he's trying to make up for lost time," I suggested, but she did not take to my jest.  
  
"Three times, huh?" she asked, the anger in her eyes growing. "That sounds familiar."  
  
"What sounds familiar?" I tried. She waved my question aside.  
  
"How does he act around you?" she interrogated, still staring at the ground.  
  
I arched an eyebrow at her, slightly annoyed. "I never knew you to be so controlling, Bulstrode," I hissed. She turned on me instantly.  
  
"Don't give me that shit, Parkinson!" she cried, her head snapping up and her eyes burning. "This is bigger than you could understand!"  
  
I was frozen by the passion in her gaze, the way that she held some strange devoted anger towards Christian. "Alright," I replied softly, slumping in my seat. "I'm sorry."  
  
She shook her head vigorously, banging her fist against the back rest. "No, no. I'm the one who should be sorry. It's just - well, you don't know the guy, Pan. He's not exactly what he plays himself to be."  
  
I furrowed my brow. "What do you mean?"  
  
She only shook her head. "I can't really say but.Pan, how does he act towards you?" This time I answered her question.  
  
"He's a flirt," I said rather bluntly. "Sometimes he doesn't know when to stop. But like I said, he's always been civil around me. He's never pushed the aggression to uncomfortable. It's almost.it's almost like a joke between us. He's a good friend to me." I noted the knowledgeable look on her face. "He kind of filled the void that Draco left behind," I added, quickly regretting saying it at all. At the sound of his name my heart began to ache dreadfully for the sound of his voice or the feel of his arm around my shoulders.  
  
"Void?" Millicent repeated, looking fearfully at me. "You mean--,"  
  
"Oh, no. We didn't break up," I said. She quickly relaxed. "It's just that this past week as been hell and we really haven't seen each other." I sat up then, looking towards the staircase. "Which reminds me. Is he up there? Is he already sleeping?"  
  
"He's not there," Millicent said, instantly squashing my high hopes. "I was in my room all evening when Blaise came in around six thirty. She was gathering her books and saying that she was going to work on a project with Malfoy in the library. They haven't been back since. Sorry."  
  
I shook my head. "No need. I shouldn't have anticipated as much."  
  
A silence began to settle then, and I turned the conversation to a close.  
  
"Are you going to dinner?"  
  
Millie stood up, straightening her robes. "Yeah. Are you?"  
  
"No. I'm far too tired. I think I'll just sit here for awhile."  
  
She stared at me, her face hiding something that looked very much like fear and worry. "Your not going to the library to check on Draco and Blaise?"  
  
I sighed lazily. "No. Why, should I?"  
  
She shot me an annoyed look. "Oh, like it isn't obvious as daylight? She's a little tart, that's what she is!" I flinched, smiling, at her words.  
  
"You're harsh," I said with a grin. She couldn't help but smile in turn.  
  
"Well, she is."  
  
"Yeah, I know. But she's like that to everyone. I'm not worried." Millie's eyebrows went up.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
She shook her head, walking towards the door. "You've got a lot of faith inside of you," she said.  
  
I laughed audibly at her retreating back. "I won't need it because nothing is going to happen," I said, trying to convince me. Actually, the statement had an opposite affect.  
  
Millie turned towards me, traced the old, Celtic sign against enchantment in the air, pointed at me, and then walked out like it was nothing out of the ordinary. I frowned after her, lying back amongst the softness of the cushions. I didn't realize until later, but she had given me every last warning that she could, and I still did not see the signs. I was blind; and it was my love for Draco that had caused such a blindness.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Christian waited behind a pillar for Draco to walk out of sight before coming out of the shadows. He kept his eyes locked towards the end of the corridor, just in case Malfoy decided to back track. But deep within him he knew that he wouldn't. The need to be near Parkinson was too great for him.  
  
Slipping eerily through the library doors, Christian glided through the aisles silently. He headed towards the back of the library, the faint lamp lights flickering as he passed. He headed for the Restricted Section, but then swerved to the left and down the aisle labeled 'Invisibility'.  
  
Waiting near the end of the bookshelves, her bright hair hidden in the darkened corner, sat Blaise. She was perched at the top of a ladder, her back resting against the shelves and a large volume opened in her lap. She was reading it avidly, despite the lack of light, and she didn't look up when he approached.  
  
"Where's Parkinson?" she asked, turning the page and scanning the contents with great interest. Christian walked to the side of the ladder and looked up at his cousin. His eyes flashed maliciously.  
  
"Common room," he said. Blaise smiled and finally looked down at him. She snapped her book shut and leaned over the side to see him better.  
  
"Excellent," she said. "How many times have you seen her a day?"  
  
At this, Christian frowned. "How do you think?" he asked deeply. "I've seen her as often as I could."  
  
"Ah. Three times a day then." She twisted around to place the book back on the shelf before preparing to descend the ladder. Christian was already waiting for her at the landing. She slid down the steps and into his open arms, his hands closing around her waist. "Tomorrow then," she said, speaking right into his face, her tone serious. "Tomorrow, we end it."  
  
"Do you have everything? Is the potion--,"  
  
"The potion's fine," she interrupted. "Everything's in place." But she quivered slightly as he tapped his finger near the hollow of her collar.  
  
"And-and the ring?" he asked, sounding dangerously hopeful. Blaise reached up and pulled his hand down.  
  
"Locked away," she said. She waited, hoping he wouldn't overreact like she feared; but thankfully he did not.  
  
Christian let her go, though kept their distance close. He grinned covertly. "You're sure you're up to it?" he asked, his strangely cold breath tickling her neck. "He's not an easy man to break."  
  
Blaise leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "I hardly want to break him," she cooed. "I only want to bend him." She pulled back once again. "Just make sure you do your part."  
  
"Sweetheart," he said, shrugging as if it was nothing. "You want a Malfoy, so you'll get a Malfoy."  
  
Blaise kissed him on the cheek. "Excellent."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
*Pansy*  
  
The dawning of the next day was beautiful; the morning opening to freshly fallen snow. I washed and dressed with enthusiasm, having a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. After six long days of isolation, I'd finally get to speak to Draco and hear his voice once more; I'd make sure of it. With that thought playing over and over in my mind, I pulled my brush through my hair one final time and headed down to breakfast.  
  
*  
  
I walked into the Great Hall casually, smiling at some Ravenclaw third years and earning fearful looks in return. It was already filled with hungry students, the chatter rumbling in my bones. I stopped in the doorway, looking over to the Slytherin table and peering down the line. My heart jumped.  
  
He was sitting near the far end, Crabbe on one side of him and Goyle across. Blaise sat to his left, both of them laughing heartily. I smiled widely at his joy. At least, it seemed, that he had forgiven himself for what happened Sunday.  
  
As if on cue he looked in my direction. I straightened up and waved at him. The light in his eyes seemed to grow and he quickly jumped to his feet, snatching up a long, thin parcel that was sitting next to his plate. I could hardly believe that we'd finally be able to embrace each other after all this time, sad as it sounds. But he had barely taken a step from the table when a hand come down on my shoulder and squeezed it lightly.  
  
I spun around nervously and looked into the face of Madam Sprout. The smile quickly fell from me.  
  
"Parkinson, dear, you're just the person I was looking for," she said gaily, reaching into the front of her robes. I attempted a friendly laugh and glanced back at the Slytherin table. Draco had faltered slightly, but continued to walk on, his steps rapid. I turned back to Sprout.  
  
"Professor, I--,"  
  
"I need you to post this sign up sheet for the holidays in your common room," she said, pulling out a roll of parchment tied with a red ribbon. I took it rather hesitantly.  
  
"Wasn't this already put up?" I asked, slightly puzzled. She shrugged.  
  
"Not quite sure. But if not, there you go."  
  
I cocked my head to the side. "Then shouldn't Irish be doing this? I mean, she is in Slytherin *and* Head Girl." But the Professor only shook her head.  
  
"Sorry sweet, but I can't find head or tail of her. Must be immersed in too much work, poor dear." I rolled my eyes. Too much work. Poor dear indeed. "She's probably arranging the train schedule down at Hogsmeade Station. Anyway - that means you, being the first Slytherin Prefect that I have found, get to fulfill the job." She smiled good-naturedly at me, but I couldn't have felt more miserable. I glanced behind me, noticing Draco. He had stopped halfway down the table and was staring at us hopefully. "You'd better hurry up and post it, sweet. Students are going to want to sign up right away!" she squeaked. She patted me on the shoulder to urge me on. I looked back at her.  
  
"Alright Professor, let me just grab Draco and we'll be on our way," I said, loud enough for Draco to hear. He began walking once more.  
  
"Oh, no can do Parkinson," she said to me, laughing as if her words were funny. "I've got to send him on an errand all his own." I clenched my fist, the blood rushing in my ears.  
  
I stared into Draco's face, hoping he'd understand. I shook my head slowly and attempted a weak smile, but it didn't stop the visible shroud of disappointment on both our faces. He simply nodded his head solemnly and waved, backing up towards his seat once more.  
  
"Come on then," the professor said, her head bobbing joyously. With a scowling look at her I turned back around and headed back towards the dungeons.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"Where's Pansy?" Blaise asked me the minute I sat back down at the table. I rolled my eyes.  
  
"Errand," was all I said. She wrinkled her nose.  
  
"Again?" she asked. I nodded. "It's starting to become unreal. She's never around," she continued mournfully, her fingers playing over the rim of her goblet. But when I looked at her she looked just as content as before.  
  
"Yeah. Unreal. Not to mention that I got one myself. I have to give that great fraud Trelawney a message," I mumbled. I stared down at my hand which still held the thin box that a barn owl had brought in that morning. Blaise leaned over my shoulder and tapped it with her finger.  
  
"And what was this? You didn't want to say anything about it, yet you were so keen on giving it to Parkinson. Is it the gift?" she asked with a smile. I grinned and nodded.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What did you get her?" Crabbe asked from beside me, downing the last of his orange juice. I only shrugged in response and pocketed the parcel. Just then the bell rang for morning lessons.  
  
"It's nothing," I said. I picked up my bag from under the bench and stood up. "Come on, we'd better get to Charms." With that I spun on my heel and headed for the door, not wanting the conversation to continue.  
  
Blaise was right, however. The day before I had sent an owl into Hogsmeade for a present for Pansy. I wasn't exactly experienced in the girlfriend-boyfriend gift giving, but I remembered my father always giving my mother expensive things after a long night killing with the Dark Lord.  
  
I had thought to get her the second volume to the 'Medical Magic' that her mother had sent her, but upon requesting such an idea to Blaise, she laughed. "Girls don't like books as gifts," she had said. "Not even Hermione Granger." So I asked her opinion and she said one, simple thing. "Jewelry."  
  
Which explains why I had a very fine, and very expensive, gold charm bracelet burning a hole in my pocket. It was the only thing that would suit Pansy. Though I had gotten used to see her bedecked in her ancestors adornments at every Christmas ball over the years, she never seemed to like them very much. The small bracelet that I had gotten her was of a tiny, gold snowflake hanging from a thin chain. It just seemed appropriate.  
  
But it sat dormant in the safety of my robe all day long. It would come alive only when it was on her wrist, and that seemed like a distant dream now. It was around midday that it seemed a lifetime away.  
  
I was walking through the halls to Potions class, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise alongside me. Pansy wasn't in Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I was slowly growing worried. It wasn't until we were crossing the east corridor did I figure out why.  
  
We were passing the intersection, Blaise talking animatedly with the other two about why Nott had been in the hospital wing for last week with a bad case of hypothermia. I personally did not favor the subject, so I let my gaze wander about the students. That was when I saw her coming down the wide corridor. She had a pile of books stacked in front of her, but I knew her dark, gossamer hair anywhere; that and her laugh. But to what she was laughing about sent flames leaping across my eyes.  
  
She was trailing behind McGonagall, the strict-faced professor deaf to her giggles. But beside her strode a tall, dark figure with stinging blue eyes and a sly little grin that I quickly detested. He was good- looking, if it came to it, but he looked a lot creepier than most. But it was the way he was looking at Pansy as they laughed together. He looked at her differently, with something else behind his eyes than simple mirth.  
  
A soft click sounded at the back of my mind.  
  
He was looking at her exactly as I did.  
  
*  
  
"Draco! Draco.Draco, wait!" I stopped but kept my eyes ahead. Blaise came bounding up to my side, panting slightly. The flames in the flambeaus sent her hair on fire. "Where are you going?"  
  
I was going as far away from the Great Hall as I could get. The horrible envy that had gripped me that afternoon was only enflamed by the sight I had witnessed just now at dinner.  
  
"No where," I snapped, still refusing to look at her. She moved in front of my vision, frowning.  
  
"But what about dinner?" she asked. "You barely stepped into the hall."  
  
I turned away from her, willing my face not to show the sadness and disappointment there. Outside the snow fell sparingly, barely three snowflakes falling at a time. The sun was long gone and the darkness outside was brittle and clear. I took in a deep breath.  
  
"You know what Blaise? I don't think I'm very hungry right now," I said politely, walking over to the window and looking outside. She didn't leave, however, but remained behind to watch me.  
  
"Draco," she started, her hand fiddling with each other. "Didn't you see Pansy? She's at dinner! She was sitting near the middle, an empty seat to her right. I just - don't you want to see her? This is the first time all week that you'll have had dinner together."  
  
I clenched my teeth at her words. It *would* have been the first time in a week. But despite all that, I didn't want to go back. I don't think I'd ever want to go back. "I don't care," I said, surprised at my own words. Blaise gasped behind me.  
  
"What?"  
  
I leaned my forehead against the cold glass. "She's with him again," I said, telling her with great difficulty. "She's with that bastard." There was a silence in which Blaise took in my words. She, too, had seen Christian walking with Pansy at midday. And she, too, and seen the way he was watching her.  
  
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh."  
  
"Exactly," I snapped. "He was sitting next to her. *Laughing* with her! Practically sitting on top of her! And she does nothing about it! It made me sick to watch them." I slammed a fist against the window, the glass trembling dangerously. Through her reflection in the glass, I could see Blaise flinch, the sympathy in her eyes almost too much for me to handle. "But what am I saying? I drove her away. I ruined everything." I jammed my hands into my pockets and withdrew the thin box. It was still wrapped in the brown paper, a white string tied around it. I turned around and sat on the sill, my back against the freezing pane. I stared at the box for a little while longer before tossing it on the ground. "Here's to love," I said cynically. The box landed at Blaise's feet. She stared down at it.  
  
"Draco," she said, bending down to pick it up. "Don't be such a baby."  
  
"Shut up," I hissed. She glared at me, straightening up with the box in her hands.  
  
"Don't throw things," she replied quietly. She walked up to me, staring down at the parcel and untying the string. "You're just a little upset, that's all. Just try to take things rationally and forgive Pansy."  
  
"But she was with another guy," I retorted. "She was with him this afternoon and she's with him now. They could be frolicking through the snow for all I care." I crossed my arms over my chest.  
  
Blaise sighed, removing the lid from the box. "Be that as it may, you're still her boyfriend."  
  
"I'm not so sure anymore."  
  
"Draco," she said, setting the box down beside me and taking my face in her hands. "Listen to me. Pansy hasn't done anything wrong. She may have been flirting with a boy she hardly knows and she may be letting him return the affection, but other than that, she's at no fault. " I narrowed my eyes at her words, but in some strange way, I thought them to be true. She leaned forward a little, enough so that I got a strong whiff of the perfume she wore. It made me a bit light-headed. "But besides all that you must know that she still loves you. And you her."  
  
I cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know?" I challenged. She took her hands away from me and picked up the bracelet from its box, waving it in front of my face.  
  
"Because you got her this ridiculously expensive gift," she said. She placed the cold metal in my fingers. I stared down at it, the fires chasing autumn colors across the gold charm. I held my silence for a long time, thoughts bouncing around in my head. After an eternity, I finally looked up at Blaise.  
  
"I still don't want to go back," I said.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
I shrugged. "Because I don't know what to say. I don't know how to give this to her." I held up the bracelet limply, the living object contrasting with my pale, dead hand. "It's stupid anyway."  
  
"No, it's not. Okay, let's do this," she said. She flipped her hair over her shoulders breathed in deeply, staring into my eyes. "Now, pretend I'm Pansy."  
  
"Your hair's too bright."  
  
"Draco!" She swatted me on the shoulder. I rolled my eyes.  
  
"Alright, alright."  
  
She nodded to me. "Okay. Now just *pretend* that I'm Pansy. I'm standing here, waiting for you to give me the bracelet. Now, what would you say to me now?"  
  
"Wow, you dyed your hair."  
  
She swatted me on the shoulder, again. "Honestly!"  
  
"Okay, okay."  
  
"Try to think of me as Pansy and not Blaise. And just.just speak from your heart."  
  
I nodded sitting up straighter and staring into her bright green eyes. The light from behind her cast half her face in shadow and outlined her figure perfectly. I breathed in her vicious scent. She really was a gorgeous girl.  
  
"Pansy," I started. She looked at me with green-no.no, dark eyes.  
  
"Yes?" she said. My heart rose.  
  
"Pansy, I have loved you since the moment we met. That day, eight years ago, when you walked into the parlor room haunts me every night. I remember it every time I see you. I'm not even worthy of you. I'm a disgusting person, having disregarded my feelings for you only to gain what little respect I could. I'm brutal and selfish, cruel and spiteful. I'm a terrible person to be loved by, truth be told. And no matter how much I hate and despise the emotions of love, I can't help but feel them for you." Her dark eyes softened as she bowed her head slightly, the dark mane of hair falling across her face. I reached forward and took her hands in mine, pulling her closer. "I got this for you," I said, unclasping the chain and slipping the bracelet about her tiny wrist. "I didn't know what you liked. It just.it just reminds me of that winter when we first met. That, and the way you looked that night." I looked up from the charm and into her face, now so close to mine. "I love you," I said, closing the distance between us. "I love you." And then my lips were on hers and all thought left my mind.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"Draco!" I cried, running out of the Great Hall. I stopped midway, staring around the Entrance Hall, but he was no where around. Everything was empty.  
  
I just stood there for awhile, my head slightly hanging. Draco had been here, but he had left just as fast. It was odd.  
  
I was sitting at the Slytherin table, very miserable and on the verge of falling asleep in my stew. My head hung limply in my hand and was stirring my dinner lazily. Christian, who had been sitting next to me, leaned over to ask how I was but I only groaned in response and let my head hit the table.  
  
"Care to enlighten me on your clouded mood all day?" he asked. I sat up and stared at him.  
  
"I miss him," I said. Christian only frowned and looked away.  
  
"I know," he replied.  
  
That was when I coincidentally looked towards the entrance of the hall just in time to see Draco turning his back and hurry away. Strangely enough, Blaise cast me a blank and mysterious stare before running after him.  
  
"Draco!" I cried, jumping to my feet. "Blaise!"  
  
"Pansy," Christian started, his hand darting out to snatch my wrist. "Where are you going?"  
  
"That was Draco!" I answered eagerly, my excitement barely allowing me to breathe. "But he's leaving. Maybe he didn't see me." I turned back to the door but Christian held tight onto my hand. I stared back at him. "Christian."  
  
"You can't go," he suddenly said, pulling me back with a little more force than even he intended. I glared back at him, my excitement giving way to outrage.  
  
"Christian, enough! Let me go." I yanked my hand out of his grasp, but he stood up and moved to block my way.  
  
"Stay with me," he said, his eyes growing wide and innocent. I shot him a disgusted look and skirted around him.  
  
"Draco!" I called running into the empty Entrance Hall where I now stood. I didn't get it; why had he suddenly left like he did?  
  
"Pansy, he's gone."  
  
I spun around, my annoyance building. "Oh, well spotted," I snapped as Christian came walking towards me. "Like I hadn't already comprehended as much."  
  
"Does he not want to be with you?" he asked, his milky tone rising once more. "Because that just evades me. Why wouldn't he want to be with you?"  
  
I rolled my eyes and sighed extravagantly. "Oh, shut up." He smiled easily.  
  
"So go after him," he said slowly.  
  
"I don't know where he went. He could be anywhere in the castle."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"What if I said I had a hunch to where he was going?" he tried. I arched an eyebrow.  
  
"I'd say either A, you've got a long shot; or B, that's really creepy."  
  
He stopped in front of me, staring with his vivid eyes. I quickly resented the fact that he was taller only because that made me seem so inferior. "Then let's try C." I sat into one hip.  
  
"Which would be.?"  
  
"That you believe me."  
  
I laughed.  
  
Christian frowned.  
  
I laughed louder.  
  
"So what, you don't trust me anymore?" he asked. I nodded, still laughing.  
  
"No."  
  
"No, you do trust me?"  
  
I held my humor and stared at him, smiling in a mocking sort of way. "No as in 'no, I don't trust you anymore'." I said. His brow furrowed.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you wouldn't let me go in there!" I cried, pointing to the Great Hall. "And, news flash, I didn't appreciate it! Now I have no idea where Draco went."  
  
He sighed. "Yes, but I do."  
  
"And how is that?"  
  
But he didn't answer my question right away. He simply stared at me, glimpsed at his watch, and then looked up into the ceiling. He stayed silent then, and I stole a glance upward as well, wondering what was so intriguing.  
  
"What, is he up there?" I questioned impatiently, poking him in the ribs. He shrugged.  
  
"Did you ever notice how vast this castle can be?"  
  
I turned livid. "Christian!"  
  
"Left corridor."  
  
"What?"  
  
He looked down at me, grinning. He pointed over my shoulder. "Go down the left corridor." I followed his finger and looked down the hallway.  
  
"How do you know?" I asked, slightly unnerved. He let out a laugh.  
  
"Pansy, darling, I just asked one of the students sitting near the door."  
  
I blushed furiously. "Oh. Thanks." I didn't wait for his answer. Anticipation had filled me once again and bolted down the corridor, my heart racing. I had to slow down a couple of times when last-minute teachers passed by on their way to dinner, but I took up speed the minute they were gone. I didn't have very far to go, however, before I found Draco--.Draco *and* Blaise.  
  
Now that I think about it, it came as more of a shock than I thought it was. It was a horrid blow to my chest, one that still aches to this very day. It is only when I recall the memory that the ache deserts me, and a numb cold encases my body. It was the moment in which I figured that I would always love and hate Draco for all eternity, never in between.  
  
I rounded the corner with fluttering steps, one hand combing through my hair to keep it out of my face. I hadn't felt so thrilled in so long. But as I turned the corner, I froze. Froze in the brittle wind, the chilling air, and the frosty whispers of betrayal.  
  
Betrayal.  
  
They weren't hard to pick out, as the corridor was bathed in firelight and was completely deserted. I think I heard a soft cracking at that moment; and it wasn't until later that I discovered it was my heart breaking.  
  
Draco had pressed Blaise against the wall near the window, his body pinning against her. One hand was pressed against the stone wall and the other was holding her waist. She, on her own part, didn't seem to mind. Her hands were all over him, her hair already tangled and wild. And what was even more horrible was the fierce passion that they were displaying towards each other. He kissed her.he kissed her like he had never kissed me.  
  
I didn't know what to do. My mind went blank, my heart had died on me, and my body was trembling with fear. I was so confused. Very, very confused. I suddenly turned away, not being able to see them together. It was too.gruesome. In my confused state I almost left, the pain in my chest unbearable.  
  
Betrayal.  
  
And then suddenly a new emotion overtook me. It came like a horrendous wave, engulfing me with a craze. It was rage. Rage at their disloyalty, rage at my cowardice, rage at Christian for delaying, rage at the world for separating us for an entire week, and rage for love.  
  
I turned back to them, my face flushing.  
  
"Draco Meleagrant Malfoy!" I shrieked, my voice echoing across the entire castle. The two quickly broke away, Draco staggering away from Blaise in a blind panic and a perplexed state. Blaise snapped to attention, her hand darting quickly to her wild hair. I stood there, stiff and trembling, until they gathered their senses and noticed me at the end of the corridor. I watched Draco's face move quickly from confusion, embarrassment, realization, and then guilt and fear.  
  
"Pansy!" he cried, his eyes wide and unbelieving. He gathered his footing and straightened up, staring at me. Blaise cowered near the window. "Pansy."  
  
"What the hell are you doing?!" I screamed, too angry to move. I decided to give into the rising hate that was consuming me. It dulled the sting of treachery. "Answer me!"  
  
"Pansy.Pansy.I can - I can explain."  
  
"Shut up," I cried, contradicting myself. "I don't want to hear anything that you have to say! Because everything that has come out of your mouth is a lie! One great, horrid, damned lie! I hate you!" And then I spun on my heel and stalked away.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"Pansy! Pansy, wait!" I ran after her, the heat burning my face. I didn't even want to think about what I had done. I couldn't fathom it. "Pansy!"  
  
I skidded around the corner and saw her near the far end, at the courtyard entrance. I called her name again, but she kept on walking. I couldn't blame her. So I laid myself to desperation and hurried in her direction. I followed her into the freezing courtyard and caught up with her faster than I had anticipated.  
  
"Pansy, please! I'm sorry." I reached out and grasped her arm. She pushed me away brutally, her look of hatred scalding me.  
  
"Don't touch me!" she yelled, backing away. "Get away from me!"  
  
"Pansy, please. Just listen to me." But I knew pleading was hopeless. I had done the unthinkable. I had done the unimaginable. I had done betrayal.  
  
"No! I don't have to listen to anything you have to say. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie!"  
  
I couldn't take her insults only because it hurt her so much. Behind the anger I saw hurt, and I instantly felt my own rage build at the thought of her pain. Pain that I had deliberately caused.  
  
"A lie? What have I said that's a lie?" I demanded.  
  
"What do you think, you moron! You said you loved me! How many times have you spoken those words to me, as we held each other, as we embraced each other.as we kissed. Then again, we've never attacked one another like you and that stupid harlot!"  
  
I flinched at her words. The snow had settled in her hair now, the white dangerously bright against her dark hair. "Pansy, I do love you."  
  
"Stop LYING!" she bellowed. I backed away, her temper rising. "People who love one another don't betray one another!"  
  
"Are you saying that people in love have it easy? That they don't fight?"  
  
She laughed hysterically, clutching her head insanely. "Fight? Fight?! Yes, of course the fight! They fight all the time! But they don't turn traitor towards each other. I trusted you, Draco. I trusted you! Everyone around saw it, but I didn't. I didn't want to. I had faith; faith that I had what it took to make you have eyes for only me, as I do for you. But you took that faith and killed it! You murdered it with every weapon you held and then threw it back at my feet in embers! You're vile, you're hideous."  
  
"You don't understand," I said, gripping my teeth against the cold. "It's not what it looks like. I didn't kiss her--,"  
  
"How do you *dare*?" she hissed. I shook my head, frantic.  
  
"No. I did, but it's not what it looked like. I thought she was--,"  
  
"It doesn't matter what you thought! It's what you did!"  
  
I breathed in deeply, the air coming down like sharp blades. "It was not without reason!" I pleaded. She narrowed her eyes at me. "I went to the Great Hall to see you!"  
  
"Well, you didn't get very far," she shot back. I closed my eyes.  
  
"I saw you with that - that Christian. You were *laughing* with him! He was all over you and you weren't doing anything!"  
  
Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide, her fists clenching at her sides. "Are you really serious?!" I stared at her, livid. She shook her head, disbelieving. "Are you blind as well as thick!?!"  
  
"You shouldn't have been with him in the first place."  
  
"Like you shouldn't have been with Blaise? I didn't mind when you *laughed* with her, I was happy that you had found a good friend! You can't even feel that way about me, yet I am the one who has remained faithful."  
  
I shook my head vigorously. "But you were in the corridor with him and you were smiling and he was looking at you the way I do!"  
  
She scowled at me. "And what? Did I ever look at him the way I do at you? No!"  
  
"I saw what I saw."  
  
"And whatever you 'saw' justifies what you were doing? Draco.Draco, you kissed her!"  
  
I looked around me, searching for a way to make her see the truth. "I didn't do that of my own accord! It was strange, but she did something and I wasn't thinking right. I thought she was you!" Pansy snorted, disbelieving. "And then I couldn't help myself. I was thinking it was you when I kissed her. I didn't realize it was her until later."  
  
"So why didn't you pull away?" Venom dripped from her every word. I was breathing hard, scared of losing something. Scared of losing her.  
  
"I - I couldn't."  
  
She smiled, but the scorn present in her did not suite her nature. "You. Couldn't." She shook her head. "Well then, I am so sorry! Silly of me to make such a big deal of it." She waved her hand idly and turned again, heading for the castle. But I wasn't finished. I couldn't let her walk away from me. I couldn't lose her.  
  
I snatched her hand and pulled her back.  
  
"I said don't touch me!!!"  
  
"No! You don't understand! I was going to give you a charm bracelet but I didn't know what to say. I saw you with Christian and I was scared that I was loosing you. You looked so happy with him. So Blaise told me to try talking to her first, but to imagine her as you. And it worked and I kissed her because I thought she was you!"  
  
She cocked her head at me. "So.what? You didn't think tumbling with a tart would make me leave either?" I looked away, her words burning me.  
  
"I told you. I thought she was you--."  
  
She glared up at me. "What about after you figured out she wasn't me?" she asked, her voice deathly quiet. "What about after you knew it was Blaise Zabini and not Pansy Parkinson?"  
  
I stared blankly at her, my hand still holding hers and sweat beading my brow. I could have lied, but she would have known. She would have seen it through my eyes. So I had to tell her the truth.  
  
"I.I - I kept going," I said shamefully. She glowered at me, a knowing look tinting her cheeks.  
  
"As I saw."  
  
I shook my head, taking both her hands in mine and squeezing them tightly. "Please. Please, you have to believe me. I didn't mean to--.I didn't want to--.Pansy, I love--,"  
  
"Shut up," she hissed, cutting me off and letting her hands fall from my own. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say." She turned away again.  
  
"Pansy!"  
  
"No." She looked back over her shoulder. There were no tears in her eyes, for she never cried, but her voice cracked, and I knew that the pain I had caused her was deep. "Draco. We're done." With that she left, leaving me behind in the darkened courtyard to shiver in the night on that cold, winter's day.  
  
*  
  
The image of her stalking away from me was the last time I saw Pansy. Then she disappeared.  
  
For the next couple of days I searched for her, scouring the halls in between lessons and asking around for her. No one had seen her. I'm sorry, they'd say, but I haven't seen her for a long time. It was the same answer no matter who I asked.  
  
Blaise didn't seem as affected as I was. I was convinced that she had done something to me to make me do what I did, but I couldn't exactly pin anything on her. So I avoided her. She tried to find me though; that I never doubted. But I evaded her time and time again. Whenever I caught glimpse of bright red hair I turned and ran in the other direction. I hated doing this, as much as I blamed Blaise for everything. It was just the thought of Pansy doing the same thing when she saw me that gnawed at my heart. Well, beside other things.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I ran. I ran a lot. In the week that followed my little 'discovery' I ran more than I could remember.  
  
It was my way of coping. I wasn't used to things like this. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I thought of giving in to my anger only because it would be so much easier that way, but I didn't. I couldn't have. It would have been dangerous only because I wasn't brought up to sustain anger, but to release it.  
  
So I found a different way of dealing: I ran.  
  
Every moment that was my own, every moment when I wasn't in class or running Prefect errands, I was outside. I'd run through the great oak doors and into the sugar-covered world. I figured that the brutal cold would be enough to hold the numbness on my body so I wouldn't feel anything. It worked. So I always went.  
  
But I'd never go somewhere more than once. I'd always be switching from here to there, frightened to stay behind for very long just in case someone came to find me. Just in case *he* came to find me. I'd go to the Quidditch pitch or walk the length of the school gate. Sometimes I'd skirt the edges of the Forbidden forest or take a long ride in a sleigh. Or sometimes I'd just sit on the edge of the frozen lake, curled up on a rock and shivering in the cold while my body numbed to all feeling. I liked it best being on the rock.  
  
And it was on one of these isolated moments that Christian came by to reveal much, much more to everything around me.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You do know he's avoiding you?" Christian asked, his head bowed towards the ground. Blaise shrugged, though he didn't see it.  
  
"I know that. I expected it. Of course he'd be somewhat angry with me, but it was all part of the plan. When he finds that he can never go back to her, he'll come back to me."  
  
Christian dug his hands into his pockets. "How was it?" he asked. She smiled.  
  
"Everything I thought it would be."  
  
They were speaking in a deserted corridor, the light of the winter afternoon shining through the windows. They both stood on opposite sides of a pillar, him in the dark, her in the light. They both had their backs against the stone, his head bowed, her head raised.  
  
"So what now?" he asked. "What is the diabolical end to this fantastic plan?"  
  
Blaise turned her head to the side, speaking distinctly and with much enthusiasm. "Now that the bond is broken, I want you to pick up the pieces."  
  
"Meaning.?"  
  
"Meaning that now it's time for Pansy to be out of the picture. Forever."  
  
Christian laughed. "Would you like her to flee to Russia as well?" he asked bitterly. She narrowed her eyes at the far wall.  
  
"Bad memories," she said silently, but Christian heard. He squeezed his eyes shut, her words cruel and venomous. Suddenly Blaise gasped excitedly and swerved around the pillar so that she stood directly in front of Christian. He stared at her.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
She looked down the hall to her right and pointed eagerly. "I don't want my dear friend to see me. She'd positively explode!" He followed her gaze and saw Pansy flying down the corridor, her hair coming out of its tie and her book bag banging against her leg. Blaise giggled madly and pressed her face into Christian's chest to muffle the sound. "I wonder who she's running from?" she asked innocently. He didn't look at her, but watched from the shadows as Pansy came closer.  
  
"Three guesses who," he answered bitterly. He turned his head away when she passed by their pillar and then they both watched her disappear around the far corner. Blaise's eyes were grinning.  
  
"Was it just me, or was she crying?" she said. Christian shook his head and stepped out from the behind the pillar.  
  
"No, she doesn't cry."  
  
Realization dawned on Blaise's face. "Ah. Now I see. Have you grown rather fond of her then?"  
  
He kept his eyes forward. "I'm not sure," he answered. He shrugged, breaking out of his silent trance. "But either way, I think now is the best time to confront her, don't you?" He turned back to her and reached forward, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's time I swept the broken shards away."  
  
*  
  
He followed her down the marble staircase, through the Entrance Hall, and into the winter afternoon. She wasn't hard to pick out. All the other girls had already been dressing for the holiday season, with their festive pins and their mistletoe hair clasps. Pansy was alone in her plainness. She stuck out from the crowd.  
  
He waited on the top of the school steps, watched her black cloak as it ran the length of the lake. She stopped halfway to the other side, near a great boulder perfect for sitting and reflecting. She climbed onto it and huddled herself under her cloak. She brought her knees close to herself and rested her chin on them, staring fixedly at the frozen water. Even from this distance he could tell that she wasn't crying.  
  
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one followed, Christian sauntered down the steps and towards her distant figure. In all honesty, he had been quite captivated with the sassy brunette for some time now. She was different, though she knew how to meld in with the crowds nicely. She had a great mind, which was rare to find, and she was strong in both wit and will. Through her charm, he had grown fond of her. He had learned to care for her.  
  
Which probably explained the sudden wave of remorse that overcame him as he approached her. She didn't seem to notice him, but the blank look in her eyes revealed as much.  
  
"Pansy?" Christian said, his voice low and gentle. Startled, she looked at him sharply and instinctively drew away.  
  
"Christian!"  
  
"Yes," he replied, attempting a smile. "Do you mind? I saw you out here and thought you'd like some company."  
  
She shrugged helplessly. "Yes. No. I don't know," she said, looking back at the lake. "It depends. Do you mind freezing to death out here?" She held no humor.  
  
"With you? Never," he replied, sitting down on the other side of her as her hollow, dead laugh echoed around them.  
  
"Oddly enough that you feel that way when my own boyfriend didn't." But she shook her head vigorously, disregarding her own remark. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't even speak of him. Sad enough that everyone has to hear about it."  
  
Christian stretched one leg in front of himself and bent the other so he could rest his elbow on his knee. He looked across the lake as she did, his other hand fiddling with the hem of his cloak. "News travels fast in a school. It has been so for years." He turned to her, pulling on his faux face of innocence. "Have you spoken to Malfoy since?"  
  
Suddenly a fire lit in her eyes and her hands clenched into fists. "Since I caught him in the corridor, red-handed, or since we had our fight in the courtyard?!" she cried. "I haven't spoken to that bastard since. And I never want to." He was taken aback by the angry passion in her words. She spoke no lies. "I would rather die than hear his voice again."  
  
"You're not lying."  
  
She shook her head. "No. I'm not. I hate him."  
  
He glanced up at the castle before turning to face Pansy. He scooted closer to her. "You're shivering."  
  
"I'm used to it."  
  
But Christian wrapped his own cloak around her shoulders anyway. "All that aside, I don't want you to get sick."  
  
"No, you don't have to--,"  
  
"I want to," he said, moving closer to her. "I chose to."  
  
"Christian, don't."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't what?" he tried.  
  
"Don't be nice to me. Don't speak to me. Don't - you shouldn't even be here." She rested her forehead against her knees and shut her face away. Confused and at a loss for words, Christian waited until she spoke, knowing that silence was cherished in moments such as these. "I'm sorry," she whispered, minutes later. "I didn't mean to be so rude."  
  
"I took no offense."  
  
"No," she muttered, shaking her head. "I just --.never mind."  
  
"What?"  
  
She huddled into herself more, closing out the world. "I don't know how to deal with something like this."  
  
"What do you mean? Feelings come naturally to everyone."  
  
She looked up at him and smiled faintly. "Then I suppose I'm not everyone." She looked away again. "I hate being alone, but I don't want to be near anyone."  
  
In spite of himself, Christian reached forward to brush her hair from her face. She withdrew from him, but he stopped her with the look in his eyes. He moved her dark hair away, revealing her face. She wasn't glamorous, but her beauty lay close to earth. Her eyes were exquisite, being so dark in a light face. And the intensity in her gaze, no matter what she was feeling, was a power all its own.  
  
"Then I am no one" he said quietly, his face closing on hers. They were inches apart, the warmth of her breath tickling his cold skin. He wanted nothing more than to know what she felt like. It was strange, but he wasn't doing any of this for sake of the plan. He didn't care about the plan; but he did care about her.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I wanted that kiss more than anything. I wanted to know that I could still feel for another person; that I could still feel, period. But as he came closer, as his eyes began to close and the anticipation mounted higher on my skin, I knew one thing. I couldn't do it.  
  
"No," I said, turning away at the last moment. "Stop."  
  
He did, but he looked back at me in confusion. "What? Why?"  
  
I turned away, sliding down from the boulder. I needed to run again. "No," I repeated, not really hearing what he was saying. Something had happened, but I wasn't sure what.  
  
My feet had hit the ground and I was about to set off on a run when he caught my wrist, holding me back. "Where are you going?" he demanded. I didn't look at him. "Look at me."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let me. "Just stop!" I cried, tugging my hand away. His cloak fell from my shoulders, taking their warmth with them. I stood shivering in my own thin one. I wanted to get away. "Leave me alone!"  
  
"No," he answered, pulling me back to him. He sounded more regretful than angry. "Why are you running from me?"  
  
"Because--,"  
  
"Because what? Pansy," he spun me around to face him, but I kept my head down. "Why not?" he asked.  
  
Have you ever had this swelling feeling in your chest that you can't control? Your muscles begin to ache with the anticipation of it and you can barely breathe because the feeling just suffocates your lungs? Have you ever had the sudden rush of realization only to have it followed by the rage of such an emotion because you're far too great to feel such a thing? Or have you ever realized what you've known all along, and yet wish with all your might that it would just go away because it takes too much of you to handle? Have you ever known love?  
  
"I can't, Christian," I said, my voicing cracking terribly. I almost thought the tears would come; I wished them to. They never did.  
  
"Why?" he commanded. I looked at him, horrified to see distress and pleading in his eyes. He really did care about me. "Why?!"  
  
"Because I still love him!" I blurted out, ripping myself from his grasp. His fingers fell limp in my absence and his arms fell to his sides. "I still love him," I repeated sternly, staring at the ground. "I will always love him."  
  
"How can you?" he asked, staring at me in disbelief, almost disgust. "How can you still feel that way about him after what he did to you? He kissed another girl, Pansy."  
  
"Don't talk to me like I don't know!" I suddenly found my wand in my hand, my arm stretched out before me, the tip barely grazing his chest. "You have no right to say anything to me. You don't know what it feels like to love someone so much that you'd give your very *soul* for them. You don't know how much it hurts to see that person throw away your heart for a few moments of tainted pleasure. And you don't know the pain in one's mind to know that you will love that person no matter what, and all you wish you could do is die just to get away. So don't talk to me or ask me any question like you could ever understand what I'm feeling, because you can't and you won't."  
  
My lungs were close to bursting now, having drawn such deep gasps of winter air. My body trembled in the murderous cold, my senses burning with the frozen weather. But I held my wand steady, staring at Christian with a vicious rage. But as my words washed over him his reaction changed from doubt and anger to a wide-eyed expression of astonishment. We stared at one another for a long time, for the snow had begun to fall once more, before I moved to walk away.  
  
"Just leave me alone," I warned, turning my body away, though my wand hand stayed where it was. "Good-bye, Christian." I turned away then, my eyes already locking on the castle entrance. But I hadn't even taken a step when his long fingers closed onto my wrist and yanked the wand from my hand. I whipped around again and saw him throw my wand away, letting it sail through the air and land, point deep, into the snow. He pulled me toward him once more, though his other hand shot out to stop me not a foot away from him. He stared at me, his blue, blue eyes grave and his mouth set into a thin line. "What are you do--."  
  
"Once upon a time," he started, a deep, awful mourning encasing his tale, "I fell in love with the one woman who was most forbidden to me."  
  
I stared at him in shock, my mouth going dry, as Christian's twisted past came forth to haunt us all. 


	17. The Ways of the Heart

Chapter Seventeen ~ The Ways of the Heart  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"I've always been an only child, the pride and joy of my mother and father. But they kept be strangely isolated for all my life, letting my world compile of lessons, professors, and noble training. I didn't make many friends.  
  
"But I did have a cousin, one that was very close to me and my family. She was a year younger than me and her parents were distant relatives to my own, but our blood still ran deep and they were our most treasured kin. Her name was Blaise Zabini."  
  
A cold look claimed Christian's face as he spoke. We huddled together on the rock, although the snow warmed us slightly. But I remained silent, too apt for words.  
  
"We were best friend's, treating one another like brother and sister. We'd known each other forever, since as far as I can recall. She was the only friend I ever had. We were inseparable. She'd tag along with me, even when I did things that she was too small or too young for. And I'd let her, knowing that she'd cry because I wouldn't let her do what I did. Minx, I'd call her. My little red plague. She was the closest thing to my heart.  
  
"But then I did something terrible. On my sixth birthday our parents decided to change the tedious tradition of parlor parties into my first, real ball. We were to dress up in our finest clothes as our relatives and friends from all over gathered to celebrate me crossing the line from five to six. It took weeks to plan; weeks in which I spent every waking moment with Blaise as our parents scattered about the manor, arranging this and arranging that. We got to know each other even more than. It was extraordinary. I learned to hold a love for her found only between brother and sister. We were two sides of one coin.  
  
"The night of the ball was nothing special. In fact, it was quite boring. I was made to stand around as my mother introduced me to everyone and my father grasped my shoulder and spoke of all my achievements. It was torture. Not to mention all the little girls I had to meet. Of course, I was the right age for my parents to be looking for a suitable match for me, but I could have cared less. So I grabbed Blaise's hand and we snuck out of the ballroom.  
  
"By this time the night had already settled and we were just messing around like we always did. I had taken her to my father's office so we wouldn't be found. We were looking at all of his things, wondering what strange, mystical powers they held, when I came across his wand. He had naturally left it in its glass case on his bookshelf, as wands are not permitted at festive gatherings. I took it down and started fiddling with it, pretending to do spells and enchantments. As a tease, Blaise said that it was far too big for me and that I'd never be old enough to own one of my own. Slightly ruffled, I told her that I was old enough to do spells on my own time and to have a wand all to myself. But she continued to taunt me, saying that I'd never be able to do a *real* spell."  
  
He took a deep breath then.  
  
"At this point I just wasn't thinking. I wanted to prove to her and to myself that I was now six and therefore old enough to do magic. So I held the wand high above my head, my chest thrown out, and screamed the first spell that came to mind: Obliviate. I had heard my father use the spell before, so it was the first thing that popped into my head. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I still regret it to this very day.  
  
"It went wrong, naturally, and Blaise and I both got hit with the jumbled spell pretty badly. From what my aunts and uncles tell me, our parents found us an hour later, each one sprawled on the floor of my father's office on opposites sides of the room. They checked the wand to find out what spell had last been done and when they discovered that I had done the Memory Charm they panicked. They tried to revive us, of course, but it was no use. I had done a form of magic much too dangerous for a boy my age. We were both in a short coma for about a month.  
  
"That was obviously the end of my family's close knit relationship with the Zabinis. My mother blamed their daughter for provoking me and their father accused my father for the ill care of his possessions. They resolved to split us up forever, not wanting either of us to 'fraternize with the ill-bred'. So they stayed in Scotland and my father moved us to Russia. They both decided to just break the news to both of us when we woke from our sleep, hoping that we'd understand their terms. But they weren't prepared for what happened next.  
  
"We didn't remember a thing. Blaise didn't know who I was and I hadn't the slightest connection to her name. Oh, don't get me wrong. We knew who we were and who are parents were, of course. But everything else, from the knowledge of my lessons all the way to my care for a girl named Blaise, was gone. Vanished into thin air. My mother and father couldn't have been more delighted, and I suspect Mr. and Mrs. Zabini weren't all that disappointed either. We all just went on with life, acting as if neither family existed."  
  
I looked down at my hands. So Christian and Blaise were cousins; second cousins, to be more exact. But I still didn't get it. Why was he telling me this?  
  
"For six long years I remained in isolation, my mother and father thinking it best if I concentrated on my studies and disregarding socializing in anyway. 'People are distractions', they'd tell me. 'You're smarter than any of them'. So when I was accepted into Hogwarts I was overwhelmed by the greatness of it all. There were kids my own age everywhere, and I was finally able to take lessons with a real professor teaching an entire class. And although all these factors were appealing, they were also frightening too. I wasn't used to them. Which is why, right at the beginning of my Hogwarts career, I resolved to a life in the shadows. It was what I was used too. I made no friends. Then second year came."  
  
He took a few moments to stare at the falling snow before closing his eyes and falling back into his memory. "It was the beginning of the year feast. I was sitting at the Slytherin table, facing away from the golden goblets and floating candles and staring at the wall. The other kids thought I was just trying to be a troublemaker for some extra attention, but I was just bored. I didn't like crowds, even then. But as the Sorting ceremony began, and Professor McGonagall began calling up each boy and girl, one name caught me off guard. When she announced 'Zabini, Blaise' I remembering jerking to attention and spinning around in my seat. Her name sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. That was when I first saw her, after six, long years. Of course, I didn't even know it was her."  
  
"She was gorgeous, even from my distance. Her long, poinsettia hair, her distinct, green eyes and her golden skin. She was so tiny then; far too pretty to be eleven years old. All night I couldn't take my eyes off her. I kept glancing down the table, trying to get a glimpse of her face or a shimmer of her hair. I must admit, I was terribly captivated. I had never seen anyone like her. But her name still echoed thoughtfully in my mind, ringing a bell from once before. But still, I could not place her.  
  
"But I couldn't just admire her from a distance, so I befriended her. The minute I first sat next to her in the library and muttered an embarrassed 'hi' we instantly clicked. I had never felt so at home with someone. It was like looking in water; she reflected everything I was, but with much more beauty and majesty than even I could muster. It was only natural that I developed a sort of crush on her, and then, later on, she conjured one for me. I soon found myself evading my classes just to be with her, something I would have never thought myself capable of. I admired her in everyway there was. She was beautiful, fearless, merciless, strong, and determined. By the time the school year had come to an end, I discovered that I was in love. I was a twelve year old boy on the verge of turning his thirteenth year and already I was in love. I was in love with Blaise Zabini.  
  
"But I didn't know how she felt. She was only eleven, although there were times when she acted far older than she was. I knew she liked me, but I wasn't sure if she loved me. So I kept quiet about it. Well, we parted at the end of the year. We said no good-byes because the next school year was just around the corner. She asked me what I was doing over the summer holidays and I told her that my parents were throwing my usual birthday ball. I invited her, but she said she had her own ball to attend too; one that her parents were very anxious to appear at. So we bade one another farewell and departed."  
  
He buried his face in his hands, grumbling terribly. "I don't even know what made me do such a stupid thing," he continued. "I wish I could blame it on the idiocy of adolescents, but I can't. I was brought up to know better. In truth, it was the blindness of love."  
  
"If it helps, I can second that," I said. He had fallen silent, gathering his words. "You know, Christian, you don't have to tell me this."  
  
"Yes, yes I do." He sat up again. "You need to know."  
  
"Okay." I resolved to listening once more.  
  
"In the weeks of the ball preparation, with my mother getting overexcited about the arrival of some very important people and my father practically killing himself over Ministry work, I did some preparing on my own part. I scoured my father's library, searching for the right kind of spell or potion that I needed. The Dark Arts aren't all about murder and death; they can hold worse things.  
  
"Soon, five days before the ball, I found the spell I was looking for. It was horribly complex; not even a fully-trained wizard could do the spell without risking major side effects. But I had been schooled in the ways of cleverness, and my determination was far too high. Within three days, I had perfected it."  
  
"What spell did you do?" I asked. He smiled, lying on his back and staring into the gray sky.  
  
"It was a love spell, if ever categorized. I couldn't stand Blaise not knowing how I felt, so I wanted to give her something that would explain it all. I searched for the perfect piece of magic to succeed in such an area, and found it in the form of a transfiguration spell. Now that I think about it, the title should have given everything away.  
  
"It's called Straeh Cinesra, a powerful piece of magic that literally takes a part of one's heart and transforms it into a physical object. More specifically, it takes the love you have for one person and turns into an object for which you give as the ultimate token of your undying love. At the time, it sounded like the perfect spell. What better way to show Blaise that she would always hold my heart? Little did I know that the name means 'the Heart's Arsenic'."  
  
I looked back at him. "You didn't--,"  
  
"Yes," he replied, laughing angrily. "You better believe it. I did it while I was in my room, dressing for the celebration. It took a lot of concentration and some well-placed candles, but I did it. It took a lot out of me; when my mother came to escort me to the ball she found me on the floor of my room, out cold. She immediately revived me and bustled about, trying to get my robes in order and lecturing me on my delay. I had no time to hide the object my love had taken, so I snatched it from the ground and thrust it in my pocket. I didn't even have time to look at it.  
  
"I was still reeling from the spell that I didn't even see her as I walked into the ballroom among all the polite applause. I quickly slipped away from my mother and snuck out onto the balcony. I thought a fresh, summer wind would do me good. Low and behold, Blaise had grown dreary of the monotonous court talk and slid through the balcony doors as well, shutting them behind her. There was a long moment of surprise that followed. I remember being so happy to see her. I instantly felt better, my face cracking into a smile for the first time in days. Within seconds she was in my arms, and I was embracing her like I had lost her."  
  
I laid down beside him, staring into the sky as well and trying to picture the scene he had painted for me. The joy of reunion; I knew the feeling well.  
  
"We spent hours talking. We sat on the railing, our feet dangling over a river four stories down. Pardon my speech, but it was magic. Silent beguilers drifting through the trees, a warm breeze running through our hair, the haunting moon high in the sky." He sighed. "Hell burn me if I ever forget that night. But despite the enchantment something still tugged at me. The result of Cinesra burned in the pocket of my robes, and I knew that if ever there was a time to give it to her, it was then. So I took her hand and laid the small token in her palm. It was the first glimpse I had of it. It was a ring. A minute, jeweled rose on a golden band.  
  
"At first she was confused, which was natural, of course. She asked me what it was for. So I confessed it all: I told her that I loved her. In the silence that followed, I thought that I had made a terrible mistake. How could a girl so close to perfection ever prefer a lurking shadow like myself? I almost left in shame.  
  
"But I didn't have the chance. Before I had so much as moved I found myself kissing her. I wasn't sure if she had done so or I, but the passion in her kiss was enough for me to know that she loved me too. It was a bit odd, I guess. Most other thirteen-year-old boys frown upon such an act. But not I. I couldn't. I was in love.  
  
"When we broke apart she told me she loved me too. She said that she had never known anyone like me; that she felt safe with me. I couldn't have been happier. We kissed once more, the whole of me thirsting for her taste. I knew, even then, that I would love no other but her."  
  
He hesitated then, his voice disappearing in a horrible choke. I remained speechless, my mind overwhelmed with everything that he was telling me. For a long time I thought that he couldn't go on. It wasn't until later that I understood that pain takes much longer to share than happiness.  
  
"Then, like everything else in my damned life, everything took a turn for the worse. It had been quite some time since I had given her the ring, and she still only clutched it in her hand. I took it from her with a gentle kiss and was about to slip it on her finger when the balcony doors were thrust open and our parents stood in the entry way.  
  
"They were drunk, if anything else, which is probably why our current closeness did not affect them so much. They were laughing audibly, the party still in play behind them and their faces red from champagne and mulled wine. When they saw us they only beamed wider, but Blaise and I just started in confusion.  
  
"My father was the first one to speak. I still remember his exact words. 'Chris, my boy,' he drawled, 'you recognized her sooner than I thought you would'. Of course, I hadn't a clue what he was talking about. I asked him what he meant and he only smiled drunkenly. 'Ah, come now Chris,' he had cried, holding my mother up. 'Don't tell me you've forgotten your little cousin, Blaise Zabini! You two were mates when you was younger'. 'Too right!' Mr. Zabini piped in. 'Very sorry we split you two up; but now you're older and wise enough to hold your own. Go on then girl, that's your cousin, Christian Machiavelli'. And that's when everything came flooding back, a great wave of nausea and a rushing feeling swelling in my chest.  
  
"So that was why I felt like I knew her from the beginnings of time; why it felt like a piece of my soul was returning to me as we embraced. That was why she felt like home. My childhood, my youthful lessons, Blaise's little red head bobbing after me, her voice as she said I could never do a real spell, and my arm as I held the wand high, all hit with a great blow. I remember knowing her, knowing everything about her. How we spent weeks together, climbed trees together, played in the woods together, and even slept side by side. I remembered loving her, protecting her, caring for as if she were my own little sister. My minx. My little red plague. My Blaise.  
  
"Needless to say we were both horrified. Her memories had obviously returned to her as well, and we pulled away from each other in terror. I remember stumbling away from her, my eyes wide and unbelieving. At first I didn't want to accept that fact that I had fallen in love with my cousin.with my 'sister'. It was too awful, too ghastly, too gruesome. I tried to look into her face, but every time I did I saw the little girl with big, green eyes holding my hand as we ran away from the ball. In my shock, I ran away from her and locked myself in my room. I remember wanting to die."  
  
Bewilderment cannot begin to describe what I was feeling. But I held my silence, letting him vent all the frustration that evidently piled through the years. All the while my mind kept thinking 'Such a chaotic and miserable past, and yet you are gentle. How can a river appear so welcoming when, beneath the surface, a raging death awaits?'.  
  
"I stayed in the confinement of my room for the next two days. To my increased dismay my mother came by to tell me that the Zabinis were staying over for the rest of the week, giving Blaise and me enough time to catch up. I almost killed myself in my room, but I couldn't leave. I couldn't see her. Looking at her would only make the pain unbearable, and it was already murderous to begin with. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep; I couldn't even walk. I was weak with pain and anguish, no matter how pathetic it is to admit it."  
  
He covered his face with his hands, groaning. When he spoke next it was with a cynical laugh and a bitter sarcasm. "It was incest! It may have just been a kiss, but it was still sin. I committed a sin. Whether it be of a religion or not, I had committed a sin in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of myself. Sure, we may just be second cousins, but our family is the same family, our lineage is the same lineage, our blood is the same pure and noble-bred blood. Titles did not matter, only the fact that we were full-blooded kin. It. Was. Incest." Christian let out a soft bark of laughter. "Did you ever hear the curse of incest? Of the horrors that await the offspring? Well, of course Blaise and I hadn't so much as that, so I suppose the curse settled upon us. Deformation was only the result of inbreeding. A curse is the result of treason to one's family."  
  
"Christian," I suddenly said, not even knowing what would come out. I had to say something; his torment was too wrenching to bear. "It can't have been that bad! I mean, back in the Dark Ages inter-family marriages were very common! Even today, the pureblood lines stay within their circles."  
  
But he shook his head. "You don't understand. I know of inter- marriages. Our mothers were first cousins and our father's were half- brothers. Which is why it was wrong. We were *blood* relatives. Not to mention the fact that I had treated her as my own sibling!" He sat up, angry. "Do you remember the story of King Arthur and Queen Morgause?!" he asked, staring down at me. I sat up on my elbows and nodded.  
  
"Yes, of course I do."  
  
"Then you would know that she seduced him to her bed before he had reached the throne."  
  
I nodded again. He seethed with anger.  
  
"And that she was, in fact, his half-sister, fully aware of her position even as she drew him into her tent?!" I gulped down the sympathy I was so prepared to give. "Do you know his reaction to her ways, Pansy? Do you even know?!"  
  
I turned my head away from him. "Yes," I whispered. If anything, he sounded close to weeping.  
  
"It was an evil deed, a taint on the greatest king of all time. The sin followed him wherever he went, turning out to be the very to key to his downfall in the form of his incestuous son." He tore his eyes away from me and stared back at the lake. "To be humble, I did something far worse then he."  
  
"Christian--,"  
  
"I saw her on the third day," he went on, raising his voice over my own. "I finally built up enough courage to see her. As much as I wanted to stay away, there was something I had to do. She still held my heart, and I was determined to get it back. I couldn't - I couldn't love her that way any longer. And as long as she kept that ring, I would always love her, no matter what. The magical bond between myself and the ring was unbreakable; as long as she held it, I was dedicated and devoted to her.  
  
"Well, you'd think she'd have given it over right away. But no, she was merciless, as I well knew. I came to her room, the only place I was certain she would be. But when she saw me, she would barely open the door. It hurt me to see her cower, but I accepted it. It would be her behavior towards me for years to come. But I wouldn't leave, and I demanded that she give me back the ring. I had already noticed that she did not wear it on her finger, but around her neck. To wear it on her finger would have meant that she acknowledged and returned my love. To wear it around her neck was a sign of enslavement; and she knew it.  
  
"My anger only rose then. I begged her to give it to me, avoiding all other means of conversation other than the ring. Without saying a word, she unclasped the chain that held it and was about to drop it into my open palm when she stopped. I can still feel my heart pounding when she did so, her eyes lingering on the small jewel longer than I would have liked. I should have taken her determination into account.  
  
"At the last moment she denied me the ring, returning the chain back to her neck. I stared at her for a long time before I spoke. I explained to her that there was no way that we could go on like before, for the sake of my pride, her dignity, our shame and our family's name. I tried to cover my actions over with words of my foolishness and being so young, but she didn't give in. In the end I knew she'd keep the ring, but for what reason, I couldn't fathom.  
  
"She said that it was an insurance policy, to be vague. With a completely void face, she said that holding onto it would guarantee my loyalty, that my undying devotion to her would come to aid one day. She had discovered the true value of the ring, even as it had taken me much longer to figure out. There was a point where I was so shocked, that I decided to just take it from her; break the clasp and destroy our relation forever. But of course, there was a clause in that as well. Once given, Cinesra is united with the receiver through 'tis of love'. The only way for me to get it back was if she willing gave it up."  
  
"So you've been her slave for the last four years?" I asked, outraged at such a lowly thing of Blaise. He laughed, fully and truly.  
  
"Well, that's one very accurate way of putting it. I've always done everything she's asked. Sure, I've negotiated with her on every occasion, making sure I got something out of our deals, but it's not the same. Do you know that I still love her as strongly as the day I gave her the ring?"  
  
I stared at him. "How?" I asked. He shrugged and laid back on his hands.  
  
"The ring. It makes me love her that much more. I don't chose too, I'm obligated."  
  
I looked away, disgusted. "So that's way she never takes that ring off," I said. "I'd always thought it was a family ring."  
  
"She pretends it to be. It's not exactly a story for the fireplace."  
  
"What if it were broken?" I suddenly asked, not quite sure where the question had come from. He shrugged.  
  
"I die, I guess."  
  
"What?!"  
  
Christian smiled at the outrage in my tone. "Well, it is my heart, isn't it? If it were ever broken I'd either die or lose the ability to love. Either way, my fate is hell bound."  
  
"I'm sorry," I said, as lame as it sounded. I grasped his shoulder and he put his hand over my own. His touch was warm. "Do - do your parents know anything about this?"  
  
He shook his head, the snow that gathered there drifting down into his lap. "Neither of us had the courage to tell them. Who knew how they'd react? Like most noble lines, they put high regard on one's purity of blood. But unlike most families, they knew the limits of keeping a line so clean. It never even crossed their minds to marry us together."  
  
"So you've just lived with it all these years?"  
  
"Yes," he answered. "We still spoke, at times; otherwise, I retreated back into my darkness while she fell into the jumble of the world. There were times when we'd joke about it, and we'd pretend that it wasn't such a big hole in our hearts, but I could only go so far before our mockery struck too deep. She's never felt guilty since the night we found out, while I sit and suffer on my own."  
  
I looked away from him and over to the Forbidden Forest. And I had thought my relationship with Draco was difficult. To love where it was most denied? To want what was golden to the eye yet poison to the touch? To have, yet never really gain. His story put the trials between Draco and myself to shame. It was enough to think that it happened, but to have it happened right across from my eye was unnerving. What else was going on beneath the quiet etiquette and formal politeness? What horrid history awaited any who dare venture too close to the truth? I held a dark past all my own, but it was one where love conquered death and destruction. How many stories ended in happily ever after?  
  
"I'm so sorry," I said again, finding no words to comfort such a tormented heart. "I'm sorry, I didn't even know--,"  
  
"You shouldn't be the one apologizing," Christian said, still staring ahead. "I should be the one apologizing. It.it's all my fault."  
  
I slid from the rock and stood in front of him, pulling him into a cold embrace. "Stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault. You fell in love, and that is no crime. You didn't know who she was."  
  
"Stop it," he murmured against my shoulder. "Stop saying that."  
  
"Christian."  
  
"No!" He pushed me away and held me at arm's length. "You don't get it! I'm not apologizing for Blaise and myself. I'm apologizing to you for taking Malfoy!"  
  
I flinched slightly at the name, but I held my own. "And why must you do such a thing?" I asked, sounding slightly bitter. "You weren't the one in the corridor."  
  
"But it was my doing that he ended up there in first place."  
  
I sighed heavily. "Look, I know Draco blames what he did on you 'being' with me, but I don't. You didn't--."  
  
"But I did!" He cried, shaking me slightly. "Pansy, I am the reason you are out here. I am the reason you've been running. I am the reason why you loathe and love Malfoy."  
  
I stared at him, blank-eyed and emotionless. "What are you on about?" I asked, my voice coming out dead. He let his hands fall away.  
  
"Blaise and I had this plan." he began.  
  
*Draco*  
  
The Astronomy Tower has a reputation of being the best place for a crowd of well-deserved snogging sessions since the dawn of time. But during the day, when even the grayest of skies is too bright to nuzzle under, it became the perfect place to be alone in. I had discovered so, as I ran from Blaise once again. She was coming down a corridor towards me, completely unaware that I was panicking at the far end. A stairway was to my right so I bolted up it and locked the door behind me. That was when I realized I was in the North Tower. Astronomy classes aren't exactly useful during the day time, so I knew that if ever there was an abandon somewhere waiting for me, it was here.  
  
Also know that I am not the most coordinated person alive. I may have a habit of nagging Weasley for being clumsy, but, in truth, I was just as inept. So it came to a surprise to me as well when I deserted all ethics and climbed onto the edge of the towers face. I threw my bag behind me, the winter wind flying through my hair. I looked down and saw the ground eons away. I wasn't afraid of heights, seeing as I played Quidditch, but the stature of the tower was enough to turn any man's stomach. I barely shrugged at the concept.  
  
Being up there was enough to clear my head and let me think right after a continuous lull. I was able to breathe. I'd never felt so refreshed before. I felt so pure, in fact, that I had this strange impulse to take a step forward. If I thought about it, I was light enough for the air to hold me, and I'd do anything but fall. It wouldn't be death, it'd be freedom. If I just took a step forward, maybe Pansy would come back to me. Maybe everything that happened wouldn't have and we'd go on like we always did. Maybe I'd fly. If I only took a step forward.  
  
I collapsed onto the stone wall, letting my legs dangle over the edge. I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I knew that taking a step forward was everything and suicide at the same time. It was an idiotic escape from everyday problems, and it was far below my dignity.  
  
I rubbed vigorously between my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. Why had I been so close to dying? How could I have been so moronic as to think I could fly? I shook my head. Life was definitely going down the shit hole.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"She had this potion. She disguised it as a perfume, but it smelled awful. It was a Desire Concoction. Whoever caught it's ghastly yet intoxicating fragrance would have their innermost desire appear before them. But like many factors in magic, the results are not always the truth."  
  
I didn't say much the entire time he spoke, but it wasn't because I was in shock. And I wasn't surprised either. Not even disgusted or outraged. I was.to say the least, half expecting such a thing. How, I have no idea. Terrible and despicable acts were not uncommon in my life.  
  
"She did it because--,"  
  
"I know why she did it," I said. He stared at me. "She wanted him, so she eliminated every obstacle there was to get to him." I set loose a bitter laugh. "She doesn't love him. Although, by your words, she thinks she does. It's lust, if not anything else. She's just too dim to decipher the two."  
  
I knew what I spoke was an offense to Christian, (considering all that he had shared with me), but it was the truth. I turned my back on the lake and stared into the mountains bordering the castle. So they *were* right; every single one of them. Blaise had never been a friend of mine. She was a true Slytherin at heart.  
  
"She has a sense of cruel power. She will do anything to gain what she wants, even if it means pulling others into her game and moving them around like pawns." A definite note of marinated hostility echoed in his voice. "Even I was a pawn she had to manipulate, though my loyalties are already bound to her."  
  
At this I snapped back around to face him, my hair whipping my face with the stinging cold. "Which is another something that I fully do not understand," I told him, rather forcibly I might add. "Why *did* you tell me about you and Blaise? I mean, it was a harrowing tale of two lovers, I have no doubts about that. But why choose me to harbor your past? Why not someone closer to you? Someone who would be able to give you the sympathy you deserve!"  
  
"Because," he answered, with a tone contrary to my rising hysterics. "It is not sympathy I want."  
  
"Then what do you want?" I pressed. He only bowed his head and slid from the rock. He walked to the water's edge and looked into it's frozen surface. The lake was so much like life on the darkened side. The surface appears smooth and fair, the ice dangerous yet welcoming. But one must be wary and concentrate, for one wrong move and you could slide away. But below is where the danger lies. Once consumed, the freezing depths could engulf you in their deathly embrace, and hold you prisoner until you found that struggling gave you nothing but despair.  
  
"I told you because of what you said to me. I have known love strong enough to surrender the essence of my soul. I have seen the one person I love throw away everything I held dear. And I have felt the pain of knowing that I will always love her, even if she feels nothing herself." I pulled in a deep breath, the warmth of him leaving his lips as a desperate mist. "I never meant to tell you," he went on. "Like I said before, I was told to take you out of the picture. You were to fall victim to my charm and thought to be whisked away by a handsome and kind stranger. She had planned every aspect." He turned around to face me. "But I did not count on falling victim to you."  
  
Now, that alone caught me off guard more than I hoped, but watching him come back to me and kneel and one knee was just strange. He took my hand in his.  
  
"Get up," I said. He did not listen.  
  
"Know that you are worth every bit of Blaise and more. You hold it within everything you are: your step, your eyes, the movement of your hands, and the speech of your lips, a certain charm that not even I can place. You are beautiful in mind, spirit and body. You, Pansy Parkinson, are a woman of power." He looked up at me with such an intense look in his eyes that I grew somewhat afraid. "And for that.I admire you. I have discovered that I look to you not with love, but with pride and respect. That is why--.that is why I could not play this charade any longer. To see a woman in despair is hard enough. But to see a strong woman who has never let the world be a burden on her shoulders mourn in desperation is a sin to my own name."  
  
And what could one say to such praise? I sat speechless, my brittle fingers warming in his touch. I like to think that that was when the friendship between Christian and myself began. I knew it, even then, that in him I had found the best friend that every child yearns for sometime in their life. In years and trials to come, his loyalty would never wander from my side, and our companionship would save my own sanity in more ways than one.  
  
"So what are you trying to say?" I asked. An attempt to hold my composure was useless at such a time.  
  
"I'm telling you the truth," he said. "Malfoy did nothing in his betrayal to you. It was a trick of magic. Blaise made Nott plant thoughts into Draco's head so he couldn't stop thinking about you. Darius was asked to make him want you, and he did. Then we were to separate both of you. Why do you think the teacher's suddenly had so many Prefect errands for you? We sent them notes, delivered them messages; we made sure that you or Malfoy were always available. We tore you apart. And then, when neither could take it any longer, Blaise would use the potion on Draco. With his highest desire being you, it was easy to influence him into playing the traitor to you. He had no part in it, Pansy. It was not lack of love for you but the highest form of it. If there is anyone to blame it is Blaise and my own person. He's innocent."  
  
So let's take a review, shall we? I love Draco more than anything, more than life itself, as I have already proven. To know that he had fallen for a skank like Zabini is more than I can bear, and I would naturally be more than happy to pretend it didn't happen. But it did, and there wasn't enough imagination in the world to pretend that it didn't. So what could I do? Well, there was the option of knowing that he technically did not do it. Owning the knowledge that he had not acted of his own free will but under the influence of Dark Magic would lift every ounce of misery in my heart, were I sensible enough to believe it. But I am beyond the reaches of sense. So, after all that you know about me, what do you suppose my reaction would be?  
  
*Draco*  
  
I skipped two classes on the Astronomy Tower. I couldn't bring myself to leave. I kept thinking of Pansy, of Blaise, of that damn Christian, of the charm bracelet, and of a death I had been willing to take. All these things applied to the past events, and all these things tied into the insane stupidity that I had wronged them in.  
  
It was in the reverie of these wrongs that I had fallen asleep on the stone wall, curling against the wind under my thick, winter's cloak. It was a slumber of haunting dreams. I was back in the manor, standing in my room. Blaise was there, next to me, and Pansy was sitting on the bed. I looked at her and she laid her head on the pillows to sleep. Blaise went to her side and stroked her before pulling out a long dagger. I don't why I didn't try to stop her. She was going to kill her. But then a familiar face came up from behind her and took hold of the dagger. It was Machiavelli. He took the dagger out of her hand and pointed it at me.  
  
"Art thou mine?" he had asked. Then Blaise was behind me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she whispered into my ear.  
  
"I am thine." Then Machiavelli let the dagger fly, and it planted itself in my flesh.  
  
"Malfoy!"  
  
I jerked awake, my eyes flying open. Suddenly the wall disappeared from under me and I had the perfect view of the grounds below me. I scrambled away from the edge of the wall, but I needn't have tried. A strong hand reached out and snatched the collar of my shirt, pulling me down to the safety of the stone tower. I took a few moments to blink rapidly before I looked up into the face of my savior.  
  
"Thanks," I grumbled, looking up in their face. Upon seeing who it was, my heart gave a sigh of relief. "Bulstrode," I said, letting out a long cough. "It's only you."  
  
She scoffed at me. "Glad to know you care," she said sarcastically. She reached down and hauled me to my feet, slapping me strongly on the back. "The professors are getting worried about you, so they sent me to grab a look. Mind you, Zabini wanted the job but I was out the door before she could get her scrawny arse out of the seat. But damnit Malfoy, you nearly scared me to death, sleeping on the edge of the wall like that. Are you mad or something? Oh--," she suddenly said as I gathered up my book bag. I glared back at her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sulking about Parkinson are you?" she asked. I pushed past her and headed for the door.  
  
"Just stay out of my business," I snapped. But I had barely reached for the door when she caught my attention once more.  
  
"She hates you, if you didn't know. She dies at the very sound of your name."  
  
I barely moved. I just stood there, my back facing her and my head bent low. Why did I stay? I haven't the slightest.  
  
"She runs from you as well," Millicent went on, speaking with a booming, sinister voice. It was almost as if she despised Pansy's reactions. "Every time she sees you, she turns on her heel and runs. She never used to run before. She despises you."  
  
I gripped the handle of my bag. Leave it to a Bulstrode to lay out the facts as bluntly as that. "Like I didn't already know," I hissed.  
  
She laughed. "That's because you don't. She hates you, Malfoy--.but she still loves you."  
  
I looked back at her sharply, hardly daring to believe her. "What did you say?"  
  
"Oh, wait there boy. She's not coming back to you anytime in the future," she warned. My heart instantly fell. "I just want you to know how much you hurt her. She runs away all the time and I've been following her. I know she's not dim, but heartbreak can do stupid things to clever people. She talks to herself a lot, and the thing she speaks of most often is that she still loves you. She loves you and she can never go back to you."  
  
I threw my books aside, my ink bottles smashing on the floor. "Doesn't she know that I'm sorry?! If she comes back to me, we can forget any of this ever happened! I'd do anything to have her back!"  
  
Millicent stared at me for awhile before her face cracked into an almost repulsive grin. "Why do men always think it's about them?" she asked no one in particular. "The question is not that if you'll have her, it's if she'll have you."  
  
"But you said she still--,"  
  
"Yes, I did. But that doesn't mean she can forgive you. Believe me, she's tried. And every time she gets close to forgetting what you did she remembers the corridor, the torch flames, the two people at the end of the hall."  
  
I narrowed my eyes at her. The wind suddenly picked up and blew my cloak back. The effect it had on Millicent was unreal, though. It lifted her shoulder-length hair and blew her school cloak forward to frame her strong stature. Upon looking at her, one would never think to categorize Millicent as beautiful. She was plain, but she had power. So much power, in fact, that it dwarfed her other faults, if one looked hard enough. But her appearance was not her fault. She was not ugly, as many people said she was. It was her broad shoulders and strong hands that scared a person at first. But later on you saw that she was just an ordinary girl with a not so ordinary attitude towards life. Nothing could bring this girl to her knees. Nothing. She would bow to no one.  
  
"How do you know what it looked like?" I whispered. "You were not there."  
  
"On the contrary," she replied, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. "I visit the scene every night. She mumbles in her sleep, that Pan. She doesn't even know she's doing it. And every night she relives the greatest blow to her heart. Love is never easily forgotten."  
  
"So why are you telling me?" I yelled. I didn't like that Millicent had so much control over my emotions. It made me feel like they were not my own any more. "Did you come here to taunt and jeer at my own shame? Break off a piece of Malfoy for yourself? Kick a man when he is down?"  
  
"Don't you dare!" she bellowed, charging for me and pushing me back. I hit the door with thundering force, a nauseous sensation claiming me as my head hit the wood. "Never accuse me of anything so below me again, Draco!"  
  
"Then what are you doing here?" I shot back, my hands clutched over my head. "Why do you come here and beat me with her name?"  
  
She just glared down at me, her nose wrinkled at the stench of such a pathetic life form. She shoved me away from the door and opened it, stepping back into the castle.  
  
"Because you disgust me," she said as she closed the door behind her. "Because you can fix it, you can save her from her own despair, and yet you wallow in your misery, hiding like a wench in a tower. You do not love her, because love would never be so weak."  
  
She closed the door with a soft click.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I slipped my hands from Christian's grasp, pushing myself off the rock and heading for the castle. I didn't even want to consider what he had said.  
  
"Pansy? Pansy, where are you going?" he called, but I ignored him. I heard him run after me, but I turned around and stopped him before he could come any nearer.  
  
"If leaving didn't give you my answer than this will: Draco kissed another girl. Moreover, he knew he was kissing another girl. I even gave him time to pull away and he didn't. That is all I need to know." I turned away.  
  
"Did you not hear me?" Christian wailed. "He didn't do it of his own will! It was the magic that Blaise put on him--,"  
  
"And what?!" I cried, rounding on him in a second. I was sick and tired of everyone trying to explain things to me! I was a grown girl, and I knew exactly how the world worked. "What do you want me to do, Christian? Do you want me to suddenly forget and swoon into his arms? Do you wish me to jump with giddiness and joy and run back to him? If that's what you want, then I despise you as well! You don't know me at all! Saying that he was under a spell eases nothing! Love is just love, Christian. A love that is strong enough cannot be suppressed or obtained by a petty thing as magic. You stand there, saying that you will love Blaise only because she holds a damn charm in her hand. How pathetic, that you let a silly thing like that keep you from living your life. And if Draco loved me as he said he did, than magic would have had no effect on him! Of all things that sinful and blessed in the world, love is the most powerful. What were Vigil's words? 'Love conquers all'." I stared into his hurt face, the heat rising in my cheeks. "If such a feeling can be swept away so easily by magic, then it was never real at all."  
  
I turned then and ran into the castle. I headed up the marble staircase, ignoring the stares that followed me everywhere. I needed a long, hot bath. I needed to cleanse myself of everything that had happened. But when I was close to my destination I ran into the last person I wanted to see: Blaise. She stood in the middle of the corridor, deliberately blocking my way to the Prefect's bathroom. But she just stood there; she did not speak or move or anything. I faltered a little bit, not knowing what to do. And then I saw Darius Nott come out from behind a column and head straight towards her. She tore her dead eyes away from mine and faced him, just as he planted his mouth against hers. They stood there, in plain sight of everyone, and kissed like lovers kissed. I stood there, dumbstruck, repulsed, practically humiliated. What on earth was she doing?! When they broke apart they both looked at me and smirked. Disgusted, I ran past them and into the Prefect's bathroom. I filled the pool with scalding water and jumped in, the snow having dampened my clothes. Nothing made sense anymore. 


	18. The Way of Simmering Ash

Chapter Eighteen ~ The Way of Simmering Ash  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Blaise waited in the night of green house three, her dark green hood drawn over her face to conceal her bright hair. She leaned against the glass walls, staring outside at the falling snow. It powdered the aged stone walkways and lined the castle turrets. She glanced up into the sky and saw the black clouds, each one lined with a rim of silver. Blaise giggled silently. Two days before the winter holidays, but it already felt as if Christmas was here.  
  
"Such an odd place of meeting," came a low voice from the entry way. Blaise brought her eyes slowly from the skies and down to earth. The door closed silently behind the silhouette of a tall figure. His black hair was lighter than the surrounding dark, but his black eyes were darker still. "But I'm not one to complain," he concluded, striding farther into the room and towards her. Smiling, she pulled back her hood and let her red hair fall back.  
  
"You wouldn't," she said, tinting her sultry tone with a hiss. She walked up to the boy and caught the back of his neck with her hand, pulling him down to her. "Because you couldn't care less."  
  
She kissed him roughly, knowing that he loved to be overwhelmed by such a thing. That was just the way Darius was. And as if on response, he groaned in ecstasy and leaned over her, arching her back as he did so. She giggled against his lips as he pressed her into the sharp edge of a table, her free hand grasping the rim to keep from falling. But Nott only pushed over her more until she was almost lying on the table.  
  
"You're getting out of hand," Christian said, speaking directly in her ear and out from the shadows. Both Blaise and Darius were caught off guard, and they quickly broke apart and staggered away in surprise. Christian only glared up at them in total calm and control. He sat across the table from them, his body set in profile as he reclined in a rather misplaced winged armchair. "Good evening," he drawled, turning his eyes away from the couple and looking up. Only a green house could show the majesty of snow falling directly for your face without obscuring your vision from the phenomenon.  
  
"Son of a b*tch!" Darius exclaimed, running a nervous hand through his hair and staring between Christian and Blaise with the look of complete confusion on his face. "Who the hell is he?" he asked her, looking down into her scowling face. He turned to Christian. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"Someone far beyond your mental comprehension."  
  
Darius narrowed his eyes but it was Blaise who blew into a fit.  
  
"What do you think you're doing here?" she spat, adjusting her tousled cloak. "Shouldn't you be with Pansy?"  
  
"No," he replied, and left it at that. She fumed.  
  
"Hey," Nott began, furrowing his brow and squinting through the darkness. "Aren't you that Mordred bastard from Russia? The one causing all this shit in Slytherin with Parkinson and Malfoy? You've got a lot of nerve coming down here."  
  
Christian rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "What did you just call me?" he asked. Darius grinned knowingly.  
  
"It's what everyone calls you. Mordred: knight, friend, son, and traitor to King Arthur for going for his queen while he was away. Pretty much sums you up, doesn't it?"  
  
Blaise gaped at him in horror, her green eyes wide in the night. Christian held his response, however, concealing his emotions by tilting his head further into the darkness. "How creative," he said.  
  
"I think you better go," Blaise breathed, staring hard into the ground. Her delicate hands were in fists and she was casting wary glances over at her cousin.  
  
"Yeah," Darius chimed. "We're kind of busy, if you haven't noticed. Why don't you--,"  
  
"No. Not him." Blaise blew her hair away from her face and looked at him. "I want you to leave."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Darius, I need to talk to him alone. Just please, leave."  
  
Nott stared at her, slowly registering what she wanted. He looked over at Christian who sat comfortably in his seat, staring at him from across the room. He looked back at Blaise as she pointed forcibly towards the door. "Fine," he said, turning away from her. "Freely and gladly."  
  
"Thank you," she replied, sighing to herself. But he shook his head as he opened the door.  
  
"Screw it. I'm not getting involved," he called back before stepping out into the snow and disappearing from sight. The wind swung the lonely door back into place, shaking the frame and rattling the glass walls in their panels.  
  
"Cheery fellow," Christian commented. Blaise was not amused.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, walking around the pots and plants and looming over the back of his chair. "And when are you going to stop following me around?"  
  
He shrugged. "When you give me back my ring."  
  
The color drained from her face. Her nimble fingers flew instinctively to her neck, where the chain held the tiny piece of jewelry against her heart. "So that's why you came," she murmured. It wasn't a question. He sighed.  
  
"Of course not. I just like watching you snog mindless imbeciles in the dark. It's been my current pastime," he remarked, the disdain heavy in his words. He withdrew his wand from his sleeve and waved it behind him as he stood up. The winged armchair vanished, leaving the setting to look more damp and dreary than before.  
  
"Darius isn't mindless," Blaise defended. "He helped us."  
  
"You're right. He's just an imbecile." Christian sheathed his wand and turned to her. "And he didn't do much."  
  
"He planted the thought of want in Draco. Without his assistance, the desire of Parkinson in Draco wouldn't have been enough. We needed him."  
  
He glanced at her, his eyes glinting like blue fire. "So that's it, isn't it?"  
  
Blaise narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Nott," he said, pointing to the empty doorway, still holding Darius's presence. "In return for his help you agreed to fulfill his boyish, little fantasies. Personally, I had more pride in you than that. I thought you'd give yourself to a man of worth, not scum like him."  
  
She blushed furiously, tossing her head. "Don't even. I never agreed to such a vulgar thing. He just wanted a kiss, that was all."  
  
A cynical laugh in the darkness scared her, resounding against cold walls and digging deeply into her bones. It was odd and uninviting, completely foreign to her. It wasn't until she noticed it belonged to Christian did the situation appear uncomfortable. "A kiss," he repeated. The words sounded ugly and revolting on his lips. "From what I've seen, he asked for more than just one."  
  
"Have you been spying on me?" she snapped. Christian disregarded the remark.  
  
"To business." He walked out of the darkness and into a sliver of moonlight. Blaise involuntarily gasped at the change it created. He suddenly looked- there was no other name for it- dangerous. The light flecked his hair with grey, almost transforming him twenty years into the future. But the glowing of his pale skin and the mixture of silver and blue in his eyes made it hard to breathe. It was a strange feeling, as if fear would be the only logical response, but to fear would be a lie. "I have done everything you asked of me, not only because I am required to, but because I wanted to. I thought it would be fun." He reached one hand up to loosen the hold of his tie. "And we both know how much I like to have fun."  
  
Blaise watched as he slid the green and silver fabric away from his neck, folding it neatly and placing it in his pocket. His slow movements scared her, but enticed her as well. "Well, like you said, we have the same mind." She timidly gathered her hair to one side of her head, fingering the silk strands and avoiding looking at Christian. He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Why are you nervous?" he asked, slightly disgusted. "You never get nervous."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
He scowled. "No." He sat up abruptly from his seat and pulled off his robe, folding them neatly onto the table behind him. "Let's recap, shall we? I have done everything you asked of me. I befriended Pansy, I won her trust, I organized it so that for seven days she would barely have a moment to think of Malfoy, let alone be with him. I cast the illusion in the Great Hall to make Malfoy think he saw Pansy having a fabulous time with me so that he could run off and you could comfort him. I unsheathed the Desire Concoction and suggested that you use it get Malfoy. And all without complaint, either--,"  
  
"You're not allowed to complain," Blaise blurted. She quickly looked at Christian and saw that he did not approve of her outburst. He was glaring viciously at her.  
  
"Which is why," he continued, slowly lifting his eyes away from her, "I came here tonight. Enough is enough. I want the ring."  
  
She blinked. "Christian," she said quietly, attempting a smile she hoped was alluring and walked over to him. "You misunderstood me, dear cousin. Our deal was that when I got Malfoy, you'd get your ring back. And, as you can see, I am far from having Malfoy at my side." She was next to him now, looking up into his profile. He was staring up into the sky, the muscles in his back straining from holding himself against something. She reached up a hand to brush away his hair from his eyes. "You'll just have to wait a little bit longer, poppet."  
  
"No!" His cry wrenched the air, taking Blaise completely by surprise. His hand shot up and his fingers closed around her delicate wrist. He jerked her in front of him, her body going slightly limp in her shock. "I have had it with your games! My cousin, you may be, but my enemy, you'll never cease to be!"  
  
Never had Christian looked and sounded so angry. His eyes were dead with anger, his face flushed with fury, and his grip murderous with rage. He threw her back and she staggered by the force of it. "I said enough is enough. Give me the ring now!"  
  
Blaise could no longer mask her emotions. Fear wasn't a word she usually associated with Christian. He took pride in keeping a level head, and she couldn't even recall the last time he was ever even upset about something. But the way his face remained completely bland and yet held the unbridled wrath of the gods. And yet...and yet...suddenly the desire she had for him years before suddenly came flooding back to her. She didn't know why — the moment she discovered of Christian's true identity she locked away her feelings for him and hadn't thought of them since – but now they coursed through her veins once more. She was suddenly aware of the closeness of their bodies, his enraged breath on her neck, and her heart beating against her ribs.  
  
"Christian," she whispered, slowly looking up at him. "Christian, I-- ,"  
  
"Did I not allow you to have it for all these years?" he asked, evidently trying to calm himself down. Blaise took in a shattering breath.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And have I not allowed you to use its privilege whenever you wanted?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes."  
  
"And have I not taken every command you've thrown at me with a bowed head and a respectable smile?" She hesitated. He closed his eyes, pulling in a deep breath and calming his nerves. "Answer me, Blaise."  
  
"Yes, alright!" She looked away, letting her hair fall over her face. Satisfied, Christian let his arms fall to his sides.  
  
"As I thought," he said. A silence followed his statement. Confused, Blaise turned her eyes towards him once more, her veil of composure drawn over her face. She moved her hair away, allowing her a clear view of Christian. He was staring solidly at her, his fingers working the top buttons of his shirt.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked huskily. She gently rested her hand against the clear glass, steadying herself against the frames of the greenhouse. "No, Christian, we're cousins."  
  
His brow furrowed and he continued to glare at her. "I know," he said, annoyed. After the fifth button he stopped, pulling open his shirt at the chest. His pale skin shone in the moonlight. Blaise was at a loss for words.  
  
"In all seriousness," he started, his anger melting away to a remote sadness. "Please. Put back what has always been mine."  
  
"What..."  
  
"Unlatch the chain," he explained, gazing coldly at her. "Slip the necklace from you neck, and hook it around mine, the ring resting directly over my heart. In doing so you willing give the necklace back to me, no questions asked, no more words spoken. After that--..." He swallowed his pride. "After that, I'm gone."  
  
Blaise looked sharply at him. "As in...?"  
  
"As in I go back to Russia."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. "You can't just pick up and go. You still have the rest of your seventh year to finish. There isn't a chance that Aunt Igraine would ever let you drop out." She laughed then, positive of her knowledge yet unnerved by the fact that she didn't want him to leave. She had gotten used to having him as a servant of a shadow.  
  
"Who said she ever has to know?" Christian whispered. Blaise quieted instantly. "The minute I turn eighteen in February I legally acquire all funds of my inheritance. That is more than enough for me to comfortably disappear."  
  
She stared at him. "You're not serious," she said. He shrugged, leaning away from her.  
  
"I've never been more serious in my life."  
  
"But where would you go?" she suddenly asked, tired of pretending she didn't care. "You've got relatives in every city in Russia." She dropped her eyes to the ground. "You know how things are. Running away would disgrace the honor of your family. And Aunt Igraine wouldn't just disown you like others would. She'd punish your arse within an inch of your life. No one shames the Machiavelli name. Your heritage dates back to Italy and Niccolo. Do you understand that, Christian?"  
  
"I'm not living in the city."  
  
Blaise looked up at him. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Did I stutter?" he asked. He looked away from her as her eyes widened. He sighed heavily as he pulled out his wand from his pocket. With one wave the winged armchair was back, and he settled himself back in its comfort. "I'm not living in the city. People make me sick."  
  
Blaise raised her hands to stop him, shaking her head disbelievingly. "Wait, wait...no. Are — are you telling me that you are going to take your millions in gold and live in that god forsaken tundra? And you expect to live? What do you think you're going to become? A goddamn hermit?" His answer of rolling his eyes only infuriated her even more. "You're an asshole," she cried, towering over him in a heated annoyance. "What happened to all your plans of joining the Ministry? You wanted to become ambassador to the south! I remember you telling me how much you wanted to spend a summer in Nigeria, studying from the witch doctors. You can't do that when you drop out right before you graduate!"  
  
"What do you care?" Christian snapped back, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His shirt still hung open, and he shivered from the cold encasing the greenhouse. "Why do you suddenly care about what happens to me?"  
  
"I've always--,"  
  
"Not but twenty minutes ago you didn't give hell to what happened to me! You were having your tousle with Nott, giving less than a thought to where I was. For the last five years you couldn't have cared less to where I was headed. And now you pull a one-eighty on me. What the hell is that, Blaise? Why the concern? Why the sudden burst of affection? An hour ago I could have left for the America's on a charter as a muggle, and you wouldn't have given it the time of day. You wouldn't have even known I was gone!"  
  
A blush tinted Blaise's cheeks and she turned her back on him, embarrassed.  
  
"I wanted those things a long time ago," he continued. "At the beginning of this year I was elated knowing that I had only this school year to finish and then I'd be working for the Ministry the minute I stepped out of these doors. I couldn't have wanted anything more than to Apparate into the nearest jungle and spend four months with natives living in a hut away from any and all modern civilization. I admit it! I had dreams.  
  
"And then, just last night, I sat in my room and I looked at my life. And you know what I saw? I saw a lot of messed up mistakes made by someone much more intelligent than that. I've done some stupid things in my time, and each one become more and more idiotic as time went on. I mean, look at me!" He jumped to his feet his arms raised to his vulnerability. Blaise still refused to look at him. "I gave up my heart when I was twelve! How much more of a moron could I be?"  
  
She spun around then, her face indignant. "You did it for a meaningful cause! You were in love!"  
  
"With my cousin!"  
  
"You didn't know."  
  
Christian dropped his arms, his head bowing to the helplessness of his situation. The conversation was far from being anywhere near to what he wanted or anticipated. He expected a calm, rational discussion with civil formalities, just as he had always done negotiations. This was the first time he let his emotions get completely out of hand. He had always seen yelling as a pointless way to get things done, and this entire conversation was a completely new experience for him.  
  
"What?" Blaise hissed. It wasn't until then that Christian realized he had been staring at her. And it wasn't until later on did he figure out that he had been staring at the source of all his problems, captivated by its vicious beauty and allure.  
  
"You know, I honestly don't want to have this discussion." He spread out his arms one last time. "I'm going to say this once more and then that's it. Put that necklace back where it came from. Rest it directly over my heart and the spell is broken."  
  
She didn't move.  
  
"Blaise!"  
  
She reached up and unclasped the necklace, sliding it off her neck without a word. She held it out by its chain, still looking away from Christian and not saying a word. The moonbeams piercing through the stone sent blood red shadows across the ground, and her fingers trembled as she held it out, allowing the lights to ripple across their feet.  
  
"No," Christian said, eyeing her with a sinister glare. "We do this right. Put it around my neck."  
  
"Put it yourself."  
  
Containing one's anger is a tricky business. Too much of holding back only makes the final eruption greater, and too less shows the pain and longing to let it run free. But just the right amount of self-discipline unveils the fabled feeling of patience. Christian had always been a patron to the legend, but when the fire burns bright as a Zabini, the victim can only stand so long before he must beat at the flames.  
  
"Blaise," he said, so low that the ground rumbled with the vibration, "it doesn't work that way, *dearest*. Magic doesn't recognize antagonism. You have to put it on me."  
  
She glared back at him. But this time it was his determined stare that outdid hers by a landslide. With one exasperated breath, Blaise separated the clasps in her hands and held it up to his neck. The small gem immediately began to glow faintly, setting off an unusual rosy tint. She withdrew away from him immediately.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked, intimidated by the fierce magic in her hands. She looked sharply at Christian, waiting for an answer.  
  
"Nothing," he said. "It's supposed to do that. It means the magical bond is breaking. When it shines red, that means I am no longer obligated to you. My loyalty — and my love — will once again be mine to distribute." A chill ran through his back from his open shirt, but he suppressed its reaction.  
  
Blaise's features completely changed then. The look in her eyes deadened, and she stared down at the ring with the utmost look of bewilderment on her face. It seemed that the prospect of what was happening had not hit her until this very moment. She stared at the jewelry in an insanely loving manner. She had always worn it, never taking it off since the moment Christian gave it to her on the balcony five years ago. Once she had removed it, but that was so its magic wouldn't meddle with the magic in the potion of her perfume bottle. And even then she had kept it hidden away in its own case, secluded from her other belongings because of its immense value to herself. But she had never, ever given thought to what it meant to give it up. She had never intended to give it up. She didn't want to give it up.  
  
She didn't *need* to give it up.  
  
"Come on girl," Christian spat, dropping his suave and respective air once and for all. "Hurry, before the light goes out. I want to get this done now."  
  
Blaise brought her eyes up to meet his, the green darkening in the night. "No," she whispered, barely audible. He did not move in the slightest.  
  
"What?"  
  
She lifted her chin a little higher, growing in her confidence once more. "No," she said more solidly. She dropped her hands to her side, the ring bouncing off the side of her cloak. Christian straightened in what was intended to be a domineering state, but it came off as worried. "I don't have to listen to anything you say," she went on, a smile spreading across her face as she realized the extent of her power. "Because you see, dear poppet, I am not the one obligated to your being. Your demands could mean nothing to me; no more substantial than the wind through the trees. But, as for you--," She held up the ring, the blushing light flickering slightly. "--, your loyalties have been given to me."  
  
Christian gulped down a breath of cold air, screaming inwardly at the unfairness of everything. He almost had it...he was almost free.  
  
"So let us try on a different contract, shall we?" she went on, growing fiercer with each word. "How's this for an agreement: I keep the necklace until Draco Malfoy falls out of love with Pansy Parkinson and in love with Blaise Zabini. When that happens, Christian Machiavelli will remove the unfortunate blemish Pansy from sight and make sure I never see her grotesque pug face again. When all that is accomplished, you can come to me for the final arrangements. You can take all the inheritance you can salvage and disappear into your beloved tundra for as long as forever lasts. You never have to see my face again, and I yours." She looked down at the necklace now laced through her fingers. "Oh, and I keep the ring," she added. Christian took a step forward, his eyes nothing but angry slits.  
  
"You can't do--,"  
  
"Yes, I can." She held her ground, staring up at him with the glint of amusement embedded deep within her eyes. "Now agree to it," she commanded. He laughed miserably.  
  
"Never," he hissed. Blaise only smiled, and he knew that she had long since been the winner for tonight.  
  
"Then never ends now. You will agree to it," she said, each word hanging heavily in the frosty air. She returned the chain to her neck, clasping it silently in the back. "If I tell you to, you will agree."  
  
The faint light died.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"Damn the world," I cried, ripping the drapes from the frame of my bed. They fell into my hands in a puddle of green fabric, and I cast them aside to the floor, letting them degrade their splendor to mere debris. "Damn the entire system!" I lashed my frail hand across the entirety of my dresser, sending all my fragile possessions crashing to the floor in a chiming heap. My wand was among them, clattering to the stone dangerously. It would not break, (my parents had taken that hazard into account, sending for a custom-made wand rather than the regular Ollivander one), but such ill caring for such a valued object was horrendous. But I ignored it and kicked aside the shards, stomping over to my trunk sitting innocently at the foot of my bed. "Damn that infernal curse of love!"  
  
With one swift kick I opened my trunk and bent over it, rummaging in its depths furiously. I immediately withdrew a small, black coffer, completely devoid of any adornments whatsoever. Inside it contained the velvet pouch of powdered unicorn horn, the envelope my father had sent the Lotus in, and the withered parchment with the words of Beula Dormiens written across it. I locked my fingers around it, searing the corners into my flesh. It was a casket of all the memories I adored to hate.  
  
"And burn in Hell if I still love him!"  
  
With one tremendous swing I sent the black box flying across the room only to smash against the heavy, wooden door, revealing every last monstrous item. They clamored to the floor in a shower of splinters, first the pouch, then the envelope, and last the thin, piece of parchment fluttering down on top of it all.  
  
Breathless and spent , I crumbled to the ground in a useless heap, my heart thumping against my ribs and the blood rushing loudly in my ears. I whimpered helplessly, gathering my knees under my chin. And I stayed that way for a long time, gazing silently at the morbid heap of darkened memories. A sliver of light shone on the pile, causing the already haunting affect to grow in potency.  
  
I hadn't even realized how mad I was until I came back to my dorm after one agonizing hour of breakfast in the Great Hall. It was the day before students departed home for the holidays, but it could have been weeks before I went home, for all I cared.  
  
In fact, for a while I hadn't even noticed the days going by, not realizing I was moving on autopilot as my mind retreated into a dark room and shut itself away from the world. It wasn't until today did I realize the anger building up inside of me and my sudden need to destroy everything I had ever owned in the world and then go to sleep amongst the remnants of my belongings. For the most part, I would have been happier if I was mentally insane rather than broken-hearted.  
  
I hugged my robes closer to my body, hoping they'd remove the chill threatening to freeze my spine. I hated this spontaneous, weak, self- pitying cage I was somehow trapped in, but I could find no key to free me of my dark prison. I wanted to go home. I so desperately wanted to curl up into a little ball and just go home.  
  
And it was in this crouched, pathetic state that Millicent found me in, with a face pale as a banshee and my hair wild as a thestral. She said nothing, overlooking the broken objects, torn fabrics, and mutilated shards. She only strode into the room, the splinters of my box crunching under her feet, and stood over me, her face void yet grave. She reached, grasped me gently by the arm, and hoisted me to my feet with little if not any effort at all. She silently guided me to my massacred bed and set me down on the feather strewn mattress. She sat down beside me, clasping her hands in her lap and stared at the far wall in disciplined silence. I began to notice and realize the extreme damage I had inflicted upon the room.  
  
Minutes passed.  
  
"Don't worry, I'll clean the room up before tonight," I murmured moments later. My voice broke the silence with a deadened, scratched tone, having been strained by my screams and shrieks of fury. "They're all my things. I didn't touch anything belonging to you or Blaise."  
  
But she remained silent, her breathing reduced to nothing and her fingers gripping each other in her lap. Her behavior was, to say the least, odd and unnerving. I groaned audibly, running both my hands over my face in frustration.  
  
"Millie, I'm sorry. I was just upset. I didn't mean to take out my anger like this. But I needed...I needed to do something. Anything." I looked over to her, expecting some kind of reaction, but none was present. I sighed, letting out a breath I had been holding since the minute I walked into the room. I fell back onto the mattress, causing the feathers to fly up around me, incasing me in a momentary flurry of soft white. It was while I was staring into the torn canopy that Millicent finally spoke, but it was in words that I, at first, could not quite comprehend.  
  
"Would you be angry at me," she started to say in an unusually quiet voice, "if I told you that I knew?"  
  
I lifted my head to look at her, but her back was facing me and I could not make out her face.  
  
"Angry? Why would I be angry at you?" I replied hoarsely. She started to turn towards me, but then thought better of it and stayed facing the wall. I stole one last suspicious glance at her before letting my head fall back against the bed. "You're the last person I'll ever be angry with."  
  
She laughed, shrill and piercing. A shiver traveled down my spine.  
  
"You have a strange talent, Pan," she said, hanging her head slightly, snickering, "for always being wrong."  
  
I lifted my hand over my face to look at my palm. I had a scar there from my first year, when I had cut myself on a broken ink bottle. "I've noticed that much."  
  
"You're missing the point."  
  
I fingered the thin, faded scar, remembering the pain of the broken glass sinking into my palm. At the moment it had felt like the world was ending, but it was nothing more than a shard of breath and fire. It hardly compared to the pain digging slowly through my heart now...that is, if I even have one, which I cannot be too sure of at the moment.  
  
"I always seem to miss the point," I answered, letting my hand go free of my inspection and staring into the canopy again. "So hex me."  
  
"You're not taking me seriously," she said. I laughed. I hadn't meant to, but to listen to Millie get offended by such a ridiculous thing somehow seemed funny to my ears. I rolled on my side giggling, clutching my stomach and wishing it would stop. I had hardly eaten anything for breakfast, and my gut couldn't take such abuse.  
  
"You're an odd one, do you know that Millie?" I said, my breath flittering through the feathers on the bed. "Just an odd tree in the middle of a field of daisies--," I was speaking nonsense.  
  
"What if I told you I knew?" she suddenly burst out, still staring at the wall. I stopped talking immediately, giving over all my attention to her. I even chanced a glance back at her, and noticed how her fingers began to fidget dangerously in her lap, as if they were eager to do something other than sit quiet.  
  
"Knew what?" I prodded, dropping my strange, drunken state and sitting up like the lady I was, or was suppose to be. "Say what you came for, now," I said, adopting the regal tone I thought I had been bred with. But of course, that is not true. I had learned to talk like that from spending so much in Draco's company. He had rubbed off on me, and his scent still clung to my own behavior.  
  
Millicent stood up from the bed, seeming to feel more comfortable pacing back and forth in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest to keep from wringing them. "You'll either be two things when I'm done telling you this," she said, watching the ground instead of me. "Furious or angry."  
  
"What's the difference?"  
  
"One extra syllable." I stared at her. "I'm sorry; I'm just trying to lighten the mood."  
  
"What is it, Millicent?" I pressed, growing impatient. She bit her lip, ceasing her pacing and looking out the window.  
  
"I knew," she began speaking with a voice of regret and concern that I had never even glimpsed before, "about Blaise." She looked over to me quickly, registered my slightly confused look, and then turned away again. "I knew about Blaise -- *and* Christian. I've known both of them for the last five years." She rested a hand on the windowsill. "And I've known what their intentions were between you and Malfoy." This time my reaction was what she had been anticipating.  
  
"Wh...wha..." I tried to say the simple word; the little, four letter word that would allow her to continue and explain herself, but it didn't want to come out. Was I angry already? No, Millicent had not admitted to any wrong; she shouldn't have to get herself 'involved', as one would put it. So then, was it shock? Not exactly. Millicent always had her ways of knowing things. Then it had to be confusion, for it just made sense. But it couldn't be that either. I wasn't questioning her knowledge, because it didn't seem right to question someone who has always been brutally honest with me. Then why is it that I could barely string four letters together?  
  
"You're scared," Millie said, looking directly into my eyes. "You're scared, Pan. You're afraid at the fact that I know, that I could tell anyone everything about their twisted history, that someone else has an insight in what has been happening, that I'll tell you that you were wrong and Malfoy was right, that I could understand why your acting psychotic, and that maybe, just maybe, you're not alone in this."  
  
I stared at her, dull-eyed and inconsistent in my attention, but my jittering fingers told her that she was right.  
  
"If that scares you alone, then this will really push the envelope." She passed a hand over her brow, taking away the beads of sweat that had sprung there. "I knew what Blaise and Christian were up to all along. I've known since the minute we came back to school, since Blaise first saw you and Malfoy holding hands, since the winter season had barely begun...all the way since the dinner at Malfoy Manor, when we were all in the parlor room." She shrugged. "I've known even before they did."  
  
I stared, mostly dumbstruck, at Millie. Well, actually, I wasn't sure if I was as surprised as I thought I was. It seemed logical enough, right? But it just made me feel oblivious.  
  
"I guess you want to know, don't you?"  
  
I pulled myself to my feet, my hands gripping the bedpost dangerously. "Come on," I started to say. "Let's take a walk around the lake while you tell me everything." I began scouting the room for my cloak, desperate to get out of the sweltering dorm room. I was stalling, really. It was just that this was the third occasion of explanations I really was in no mood for, and the first two ended in a less than graceful way. But just as I was heading for the door Millicent came and blocked my way, her face contorted in anger and disgust.  
  
"I can't believe you," she said, pushing me away from the door. "Running like some scared little wench of a girl? That's pathetic!"  
  
"Well maybe I feel pathetic!" I cried, blowing up randomly. "Aren't I allowed human faults like everyone else? God, Millicent." I clutched my head, the blood pounding once again. "Ah, shit!" I fell to my knees cursing uncontrollably. "Just leave me alone! Just go away! I haven't done anything to you!" And I wasn't even sure if I was screaming at Millicent or to the world in general.  
  
Honestly though, I'm not one to have a nervous breakdown like that. I mean, to the outside world, it just seems pointless, right? What good can a miserable heap of strangled cries do for someone other than issue one monstrous headache and a few spontaneous convulsions? But in the moment one forgets such things. All anyone could ever think about is the satisfaction of letting loose of all logic and acting as childish and selfish as one wants. And in my case, having deprived myself of my weekly, (or even daily), breakdowns, mine had been coming twice as hard, letting free the pent up anguish and frustration that I swallowed down for years.  
  
"What do you want anyway? Why won't you go away? Ahh!" I dug my nails into my scalp, loosing what little grip I had on composure and clamping my fingers onto the deranged and unstable. "What's with the damn heat?!" I kept the cries going, hoping that it would help lift the pains of my head and my heart; it didn't.  
  
And in her horrid revulsion, Millicent dropped to her knees next to me, jerking my head upward by the scruff of my neck and forcing me to look in her face. "Who are you and what have you done with the Pansy Parkinson that I know?" she asked, hissing through clenched teeth. I narrowed my bloodshot eyes, reddened from the rage bubbling inside of me.  
  
"Screw you," I grumbled. If no one had noticed, I wasn't up to kindness between friends just then. But it seemed that Millie wasn't either, because she threw me back with a flick of her wrist and I slammed into the footboard of my bed. "What the hell, Bulstrode?!" I shrieked, rubbing my back vigorously. But my anger was not justified in her menacing eyes.  
  
"You've got a lot of nerve talking to me like that," she scolded, towering over me in all her intimidating glory. "You are — damnit, I can't even begin to describe how low you've gotten lately! It's not like you at all. It's not like a Slytherin. It's not like a pureblood. Let me tell you something, Pan, and I want you to listen closely. I've known Blaise and Christian for a very long time, and both have one defining trait that they share: they know exactly how to take someone, anyone, and manipulate their minds to do whatever they want them to do. It's been so for ages, and I've seen them play thousands of harmless pranks on people you couldn't even dream of being so weak-minded. This time is no different; it's the fact that it's a greater scam that makes it special.  
  
"And look what they've done to you! They've reduced you to nothing but a blubbering mess. You should be ashamed; horribly and utterly ashamed at what you've become." She opened her mouth to continue but suddenly stopped halfway, her words stillborn. She started breathing rather hard, almost as if she was going to hyperventilate. Despite my rather less-than- friendly attitude, I started to reach for her, slightly afraid that she'd pass out on me. But she batted my hand away furiously and started talking again, filling the space between us with words. "I knew that Blaise wanted Draco, and all about her plan with Christian. I found out before it even began, through stealth and shadow. I even confronted them with my knowledge."  
  
My rage suddenly consumed me once more. "You knew?! And you didn't tell--," I cried. Millicent wouldn't have it.  
  
"Shut up! God! You talk too much!" She ran a hand through her hair, practically tearing out each strand. "Blaise set up midnight meetings with Christian. She didn't want to be seen with him during the day and it would've blown his elusive cover that he had harvested for seven years. Besides, they needed that vagueness to make his connection with you seem surreal and affect both of you more. Anyway, I heard her one night during my sleep, but I let it go. When I kept hearing her leave the room numerous nights after that, I couldn't do anything but follow her. And I did. And I found out about everything." She shrugged again. She was calming down, but now she was helpless; and it was worse than seeing her lose her anger. "They saw me too. And I ran to tell you but Christian hit me with some sort of spell or curse, or whatever. The next thing I know, I'm bound to secrecy."  
  
"He hit you with an unauthorized spell?"  
  
"What do you think?!" she snapped. "One doesn't exactly need permission to act out of bounds. Do you think it wasn't hard for me or something? They were plotting your downfall, or whatever comes relevant to that, and you're my friend; one of my closest. Okay, you are my closest. And I couldn't say a thing. Oh, but I tried, of course." She glared viciously at me then. "I dropped you every last hint that I could, practically laying the words out at your feet. Do you remember the conversation we had a few days ago? You were so clouded over with trust and loyalty that you refused to see what was plain as day! I couldn't come out and tell you, but I thought you at least had the common sense to figure it out. But no! You purposely blinded yourself! So I fell to my last resort; I tried to protect you with magic."  
  
She looked away, spent. I remained staring at her. Comprehension dawns slowly on the bewildered, and this was probably the most strangely revealing conversation I have had so far. But sorting out the contents took careful consideration. Planning at midnight? I had begun to notice that Blaise seemed a lot less 'perky' during the day; it made sense, if she was staying up late in the evenings to converse manipulative tactics with her cousin. Christian going by any means to silence Millicent? Well, that fit perfectly into the concept. He was bound in love to Blaise, and he would most certainly do anything to ensure her satisfaction in a smooth plan. And Millie warning me? That fact I could not deny. I could almost perfectly recall my immediate denial in the most obviously exposed subject since the conspiracy of witchcraft behind Catherine the Great's reign. Why did I deny? Because I had convinced myself to trust love only to watch it blow up in my face. Go figure.  
  
But protecting me with magic... That seemed odd at first. If Millicent was bound to secrecy, how and why would she resort to a spell that could intermingle with the curse and cause dire consequences? And what spell had she used? Was there such a thing as a block against schemes devoted to the downfall of love? Highly unlikely. So then it had to be something universal; something powerful; something ancient...  
  
"The sign against evil," I blurted out, looking into her eyes without disdain for the first time that day. "When we talked in the common room, and you were warning me about Blaise. You did that sign that our ancestors used. It was--,"  
  
"Supposed to ward off evil sorcery." She shook her head helplessly. "It worked alright, but not nearly enough. Magic can't exactly protect the ways of the heart, if you don't mind my sentiment."  
  
"But what magic was there to block? It was just schemes and cleverness."  
  
"Says you."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
She coughed forcibly, her face turning slightly red. Conversing in angry tones did have its toll. "Didn't you ever wonder why time seemed to fly by when you were Christian? How it could feel like a minute but really be an hour?" The glint in her eyes told me the expression on my face. "Or how the teachers always had an errand for you when they saw you? Or Draco?"  
  
Magic.  
  
"A spell over the classroom to speed up time, taking you and Christian along with it, a Luring Charm set on both of you to attract the teachers and their errands. Same concept as the Repelling charms on the stadium during the World Cup, only teachers are made to remember errands for you and come to you, rather than turn and leave. And then the Illusions on Draco to make it seem like you were having a great time with Christian rather than just acting regular. Minor magic, really. But in light of the circumstances, it was enough." She backed up from me and fell back onto the wall, leaning against it in fatigue. "I've actually been in the library practically this entire month, reading up on everything they've been doing to both of you and trying to figure out how to counteract it. But every spell I came across was useless, because the binding of secrecy wouldn't let me do it. Do you understand the seriousness of all this?! I spent my entire month of December gathering information for you and Draco, and I couldn't use any of it!" She shook her head in disgust. "I need a new hobby."  
  
"Why all the trouble?" I asked, not even allowing for yet another dramatic pause to worm its way into our conversation. I wanted our talk to end, and I wanted it to end now.  
  
"I already told you, you're my closest friend--,"  
  
"Not that! I meant why all the trouble just to separate Draco from me?" She looked up at me like I was crazy, or I had missed a vital point, but I couldn't see where the confusion could come from. "We're just two teens in love, if you could call it that! And then here comes Miss Blaise Zabini, being damn Aphrodite herself, and she goes through all this planning and all this trouble just so she can get a hold of my boyfriend? I mean, honestly! It's pathetic! No, it's past pathetic. It's ridiculous. There was no reason to plan this devious scheme with careful precision and magic. What was the point?! The most she should have done was concocted some illegal Love Potion, or whatever. Why go through an entire process for one measly outcome?! Huh? Why?!"  
  
Millicent frowned at me. "I never thought of it like that," she said. I forced a smile on my face, which came out more like a grimace.  
  
"But now that I say it out loud, it sounds stupid, doesn't it?" She stared at me. "Doesn't it?" I repeated. I needed her to say 'yes', but she said nothing of the sort.  
  
"You can't believe that," she started. "I mean, I agree that she went over the top with the planning thing, but there has to be more to that; I'm just not sure that I know what it is yet. But, come on Pansy...she didn't just take your boyfriend away." She looked down to the ground, where the debris of my earlier fit still littered the polished wooden floor of our dorm. She knelt down and picked up the ancient leaf of parchment, letting the splinters fall off it and clatter to the ground. She held it up to her face, staring at the aged text and then looking up at me. "Pansy, she took away your love."  
  
I tore my eyes away from the parchment and looked at her, surprised. I mean, yeah, of course I knew I loved Draco; and no one could ever compare to him in my eyes. But it was hearing those words from someone else that caught me off guard. I mean, we were barely sixteen, and who can be certain of love at such an age?  
  
"But so much time dedicated to a measly cause?"  
  
"Love is not a measly cause!" Millicent cried. She strode back over to me and shoved the parchment into my hands. I took it and felt the crinkle of worn magic through my fingers. "Would you have risked obtaining this for some measly cause?" She snatched up the torn bed sheets in her hands. "Would you have had this kind of fit over just a measly cause? Would any of us had wasted any of our precious, prideful time on just some measly cause?" She knelt down in front of me, her feathery, brown hair nestling at the nape of her neck. At first her face was scrunched up in concentration, but then she just let her emotions take over and smiled meaningfully at me for the first time that day.  
  
"There's only one point to be made here, Pan. You had something every Slytherin girl wishes she had; and Draco had something every Slytherin boy wishes he had. You had each other. Maybe it didn't occur to you at the moment, but every last one of us saw a flicker of hope in your relationship." She looked down at her hands.  
  
"We're not people of love, Pansy; we never have been, and probably will never be. We have too many expectations to live up to. But we cannot deny human nature, and human nature strives for happiness in one other human being. We're just like everyone else...we want love. But we don't know how to find it. You two did. We saw...we saw hope for us in you two. But of course, none of us wanted to admit it. It would have been far too embarrassing." Her shoulders suddenly slumped over, and she looked back up. "And then you broke up, and everyone got scared. If Draco and Pansy couldn't hold onto their love, then who could? We started to become cross with each other, and soon we were mad over an affair that did not even involve us. We were mad at you for letting it happen, we were mad at Draco for doing it, and we were mad at Blaise for making it. Not many knew of Christian's involvement. Well, not many know of Christian.  
  
"But I guess I'm trying to say that you can't give up. You just can't. We — we...we need..." She took a breath, bit her lip, and then held my hands in hers. It was a strange contact between the skin, and at first it felt uncomfortable. But then the feel of friendship took over and I was able to look her in the eyes. "We need you two to have each other for our sake, if that makes any sense. And you can't just let love die like that, Pansy. You just can't." I smiled at her and she smiled at me; and for the first time in a long time, I really did feel happy. "And if you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you," she added. I couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"Okay, Millie. I promise."  
  
"I'm serious," she went on, giving me an exasperated look. "If anyone, I mean *anyone* found out I was going soft, my entire reputation would go up in smoke and then where would I be? If you tell anyone, I'm afraid I'm going to have to brutally maim you within an inch of your life." She broke contact with me and rose to her feet, but held out her hand to help me back up again. She'd always be helping me back up again. "Deal?"  
  
I shrugged. "Deal."  
  
"Good. Now that that's settled, what are we going to do about this dorm room? It looks like crap." I cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning slyly.  
  
"What? No smart remark to accompany that?" I asked, walking past her to gather the rest of my treasured things lying idly near the door. She sighed.  
  
"Hey, I've just finished with my very first ever melodramatic, emotionally unstable, teen-angst moment, okay? I still need time to recover from that." I looked back at her and we both laughed. "I'll get the bed and you can start repairing that little coffer of yours." And she pulled out her wand, already mending the fabrics with silent waves of her hand. I turned back to my things and bent down to pick up my wand, which had rolled its way near the door as well. I took it in my hands and suddenly felt a great amount of courage and ambition flood over me, a feeling I had not experienced for several weeks. I was myself again, and I liked it.  
  
"Millie," I started, pointing my wand at the remnants of my black box. "Ruparo," I muttered. The box immediately flew back together. "If you were bound by secrecy through magic, how were you able to tell everything to me just now? Didn't the spell forbid that?" I felt a strange uneasiness settle in the room and I glanced backward to see Millicent staring curiously at me, her wand pointed towards the bed.  
  
"I didn't tell you?" she asked, scratching her head. I shrugged. "Oh, of course. That was the reason I came up here in the first place. But when I saw you lying on the ground I forgot about it." She turned to face me completely, her expression neither distasteful or satisfied. "It seems you've got a friend behind enemy lines. She's the reason why I am no longer bound by anything. You should thank her."  
  
I frowned at her. "Who are we talking about here?" I tried, but Millie shook her head.  
  
"I know you'll hate me for saying this, but everything will be revealed in due time. Don't worry about it; your gratitude is accepted humbly, or however she put it." She turned back towards her task.  
  
"How do you know I'd be gracious enough to say thank you?" I asked. She only let out a bark of laughter.  
  
"Please! If I can be sensitive and understanding, then you must be one hell of a pansy!"  
  
*Draco*  
  
I lay, stone cold, in the hospital wing with a bandaged head and slight case of hypothermia. After sitting through an entire lecture of my carelessness regarding winter and my own abusive ways of running into doors, Madam Pomfrey had pushed me into a bed and commanded me to stay there until I felt better. Yes, she *commanded* me to stay, and she even enchanted the curtains she had set around my bed to collapse in on me should I feel the need to escape before I had healed. It seemed her constant lack of cooperation from patients had finally driven the school nurse mad.  
  
Not that I minded lying idly for the rest of the remaining school term. My body simply refused to warm up, and I wasn't exactly encouraging it to do so either. It got me out of the last few days of school and also spared my conscience of seeing *her* again; conscience and soul. But for the most part I spent those few days forgetting about how chaotic the world had suddenly become. If it credited her, Madam Pomfrey wasn't the worst companion a sick man could ask for. She'd bustle around the empty infirmary, organizing this or preparing that. Sometimes she'd talk to me about what she was doing or how much she loved the Christmas holidays, and because I was too sick and bland to respond, I listened politely and even attempted to smile when she looked my way. In my current state it didn't seem right to inflict misery on other's even though I was chained to mine.  
  
On the eve of the student's departure for homes, I half wished Pansy would come by, even if it was to yell and scream about how much she hated me and that she would demand that I not attend her Christmas ball in 'light of recent events'. But as the day withered on my hopes began to fall, and I knew she would not be coming to the infirmary any time this year. Although, to my great horror and nasty surprise, Blaise came to grace me with her presence, towing along with her a bouquet of flowers to put on my bedside table. They were roses. Red and white roses. Blood and purity. Purebloods.  
  
"What are you doing here?!" I demanded the minute she walked through the door. I was sitting up in bed, Pansy's book of medical spells laid open on the bedspread. She had let me borrow it since the night she showed it to me, and I never got the chance to give it back. But at the sight of Blaise I quickly shut it and concealed it behind the fabrics. I didn't want Blaise to see anything belonging to Pansy. She might have wanted it for herself.  
  
Blaise stopped when she heard me. She looked slightly frightened, but I really couldn't care less.  
  
"I just came to visit you," she started, taking a step forward, but I wouldn't have it.  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't need visitors. So you can leave now," I said, and turned away from her, burying myself into the illegal healing spells too dangerous to attempt. They usual didn't work well on their aim, and I was just getting into the reading when I heard Blaise sit down on the edge of my bed. "You're not welcome there," I hissed, gripping the sides of the book dangerously. I quickly glanced up towards her and noticed that she had her back to me, her head bent down to stare at her hands. The roses sat in the vase on the bedside table, a few petals already littering the base.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. I straightened up, barely bringing the book into view. I waited for more, but she stayed silent.  
  
"Is that it?" I asked, slightly disappointed. After what I had been through, I deserved more. Maybe not as much as Pansy, but more. "Well, if your done you can go."  
  
She turned to me and I hated how gorgeous she was. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty. The sun hit her ginger hair, letting it blaze into a silken, fiery wave. Her skin was tinged with gold and her green eyes glinted deep and bright, but there was nothing there, and it was all the difference between her and the knowing, watching eyes of Pansy.  
  
She looked at me with her dead eyes for a while, and then reached into her robe pocket and withdrew a glinting, golden something. For a moment she lingered, and then held out her closed fist towards me, the object twinkling between her fingers. I stared at it for a moment, and then looked back at her.  
  
"What is that?" I asked. She took a shallow breath, fearful of my defensive stature.  
  
"Something that doesn't belong to me," she said. She reached for my hand and I snatched it away, jumping out on the opposite side of the bed and glaring at her, the book falling open.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Nothing!" she cried, jumping up as well. She looked like she was close to tears. Just what I needed, a weepy female. "I was just going to put it in your hand."  
  
"You could have just put it on the bed and then left."  
  
"You don't have to yell."  
  
"Yes I do! I have every reason in the world to yell!" I spun on my heel and stalked for the window. I pulled out my wand, having hidden it in the sleeve of my pajamas, and pointed it at the glass. "Reducto!" I screeched. The bottom left panel shattered into pieces, and I stuck my head out into the brittle cold. "Damn you all, you filthy Mudbloods! I hope you choke on your own shit!" I retreated back into the infirmary, pointing my wand at the far shelf where dozens of herbs hung on a rack, each one carefully sorted by Madam Pomfrey herself. "Diffindo!" Purple light exploded at the tip of my wand and the plants crumbled into ashes on the ground.  
  
"Draco, please! I'm going already!" Blaise whimpered, backing away towards the door. But I liked the fear I had struck into her heart, and it only fueled my venting rage.  
  
"Oh, Blaise, darling! You look a little flushed! Maybe I have something here that can help..." I bent over the spellbook on the bed and read out the first words that I saw. "Louseh est llamour decorum coeur!" Before the words even finished coming from my mouth I knew I had gone too far. And even though my wand was pointed towards Blaise the spell erupted not but three feet in front of me. The room was suddenly swept about in a mighty wind, the debris from my tantrum ricocheting off the walls around us in a vengeful fury.  
  
I crouched down behind the bed and Blaise flattened herself to the ground. For a few agonizing seconds a whirling twister engulfed us both. But then it quickly subsided and the room was still once more, everything sent in disarray around the infirmary.  
  
"What did you do?" I heard her hiss. I rose to my trembling feet, looking around myself, my wand clattering to the floor. My hair was sent in wild tendrils and sweat beaded my clammy forehead. I looked over to the spill of black robes and red hair, and watched as Blaise struggled to her feet as well. Her wand was clutched tightly between her pale fingers. Instinct, I guessed.  
  
"I don't know," I said, bewildered. I honestly didn't know what happened, and my anger had vanished along with the swirling something. "And frankly, I don't care to find out again." I reached down and closed the book, taking deep breaths as I did so. I looked up and saw Blaise on her feet, dusting off her robes and still clinging to her wand.  
  
"Look at this place," she remarked. "It's a mess."  
  
"Yeah, it is."  
  
"You could have killed us!"  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"Oh! Well, you don't have to be smug about it!" She flipped her hair away from her face with her wand hand and turned about herself, inspecting the damage. She let out an exasperated breath. "You should have done better to control yourself. You just performed illegal magic!"  
  
I moved the book over and climbed back into bed, dusting aside rose petals and glass shards as I did so. "How do you know it was illegal?"  
  
"I've heard my father use it sometimes; and besides, you said it wrong." She viciously jabbed her wand towards me and at first I thought she intended to curse me for my carelessness. But she was merely pointing towards the book. "You better hide that before any of the professors come in here and see it! And I better clean this mess before they think--,"  
  
"Before they think what, Miss Zabini?" a strict voice asked from the doorway. My head snapped up and Blaise spun around only to find Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey in the doorway, one looking grave and the other horrified.  
  
"Professor!"  
  
"Quiet, Miss Zabini," she said, speaking evenly but sincerely. "This is an infirmary. At least, I thought it was." She walked into the room carefully, the school nurse trailing in behind her. Now, don't think I've created a soft spot for the Healer of the school, because I haven't; but the shocked expression on her face made me regret disintegrating her healing herbs.  
  
"What has happened here?" she exclaimed, walking over the to the empty rack, now dangling by a single hold. "My mandrake leaves and rowan branches! Gone!"  
  
I looked to the Deputy Headmistress and watched as she lifted the hem of her robes over a rather nasty pile of broken vials. She looked up at me and then to Blaise, her features arranged in a none too pleasant way.  
  
"I am appalled at your wild and unruly behavior," she said, her knuckles turning white from gripping the fabric so hard. "What you did here is unforgivable, and severe punishment will be in store for you when you return from the holidays...Miss Zabini!"  
  
I looked over at Blaise sharply and saw that her eyes had gone rather wide. But she didn't open her mouth to say anything, and I was too surprised to do anything myself.  
  
"I knew this poor boy shouldn't have had any visitors! If I had only known you were a rebel without a cause! That's it Minerva! From now on the only person who gets to see my patients is me. I can't handle this lack of cooperation any longer!" And she stalked off to her office, slamming the door with an almighty thud. The professor had watched her go and then fixed Blaise her stare once more.  
  
"Well? What have you got say for yourself?" she asked. I looked to her as well, wondering if she was going to tell the truth or not.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall. I came in here to visit Draco and see how he was doing. We've had a fight a while ago and we were never able to settle it. I guess we started where we left off and I — I lost my temper." She looked down at the wand still held in her hand and pocketed it. "You know what they say; the Irish are a little hot-headed."  
  
"Miss Zabini, I am very disappointed in you. I have never had any problems from you before today; and because of that, I'm willing to diminish your punishment. Two hundred points from Slytherin and a month's detention on your return. Consider that a humble gesture after performing an illegal spell like that. Of course, I'll have to write to your parents about this. Just be glad that the Ministry is busy rebuilding itself or else you'd find yourself in a hearing whether to expel you or not!" She sighed heavily and looked around the hospital wing. "Now, first things first. I want you to clean this up with no magic! In Argus Filch's words: elbow grease, Miss Zabini." She looked over to me once, actually gave me a sympathetic nod and half smile, and then turned to leave, muttering under her breath about the obedience of the students today.  
  
I leaned over in my bed to get a better look at Blaise on her knees, carefully picking up the remnants of the vase that held the roses she had brought. I glanced over to the table and saw only a scatter of petals of both colors, and I kept hearing my own voice in my head when I first told Pansy of our rose garden. 'Red and white...purebloods...red blood...white purity...'  
  
"Why did you lie?" I asked. Blaise stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, gazing through the sheen of her glossy hair. "Your parents will be furious with you, not to mention the anger the other Slytherins will set loose on you when they find we've lost two hundred points just before the holiday season. Why didn't you tell her the truth?"  
  
"The truth doesn't matter," she quickly answered, looking down at the clear fragments in front of her. "It only makes things worse... Besides, you've got enough problems already. It's just one last thing to worry about." She continued to clean up the floor, but then she ran her hand across a particularly rugged piece and blood sprouted against her palm. "Ow," she murmured, closing her hand on the wound. I unconsciously jumped from the bed and went to her, lowering myself to her eye level.  
  
"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching for her hand. She let me take it while she hissed through her clenched teeth.  
  
"It's nothing," she said, but yelped slightly as I pried her hand open.  
  
"As you saw, I'm not very good with healing spells." I looked around the room and saw the nurse's dressing materials by the door. I quickly got up, snatched them in my hand and walked back over to her. "Here," I said, handing her the roll of linen. "We'll wait until Madam Pomfrey is in a better mood to heal that."  
  
She wrapped the wound slowly, allowing the loose blood to soak into the material. I remained standing over her, watching as she worked. I had started to think that the minute she had finished I'd be able to be angry in peace, and go back to my bed while I left her to clean up the room. But somewhere deep inside, and I mean really, really, really, really deep inside, I felt guilty for punishing her for something she didn't do. When she had tied the knot around her hand she looked up at me, waiting.  
  
"So...I guess I'll help you clean up," I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck uneasily. "You know, since you didn't, er — do anything." She smiled up at me, and I winced at the look.  
  
"Thanks," she said. "Go ahead and fix that window while I throw away this glass. We don't want another case of hypothermia."  
  
I shrugged and went back to the window, picking up my wand as I did so and pointed it at the broken panel.  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot," she said. I looked back at her and saw her by the bedside table, placing something on its surface. The air was displaced by the wrinkle of chains and tilted my head to get a better look. "I thought you might want it back. It doesn't exactly belong to me." And with that she walked over to the trash bin. Lying on the table, just as immaculate as the moment I received it, was the charm bracelet. The golden snowflake winked merrily at me from across the room, looking nothing less than regal among the crimson petals and the white.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"Hey, Parkinson!"  
  
I spun around and searched for the origin of the voice, hugging my cloak closer to my body. One would think the heat from the train would make the station warmer, but it didn't. I looked around for a few seconds before I caught sight of an energetic hand waving at me from the front of the train. It was Irish. I couldn't help but laugh as I watched her make her way through the throng of people, scolding those who got in her way and flashing her Head Girl badge whenever she could. When she reached me she was smiling broadly, her brown hair down, for once in her life, and whipping around her head. She looked different from the Professor McGonagall clone that she usually was.  
  
"Can't wait to get home?" I asked, trying to still my chattering teeth. I stole a quick glance around the platform, hoping to see Millicent. She was running late and I wanted to get onto the warmth of the train but didn't want to sit alone in a cabin.  
  
Irish rolled her eyes. "Who wouldn't be? I'm finally able to relax, knowing that I've finished my work for this half of the year. Now I can finally rest." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But then again, there's always your ball to be looking forward to!" She smiled broadly at me and I forced myself to return it in full measure. She didn't deserve to hate the ball when it was obviously a high point of her holidays. "I've already read up on my character."  
  
"Who are you coming as?"  
  
She grinned. "Who else but the most powerful female authority in all Arthurian legend? The Lady of the Lake, of course!"  
  
"Suits you perfectly."  
  
"I like the way you think," she replied. But then she caught sight of Kino and nodded in his direction. "I'll see you later, Parkinson," she said, winking at me. I stared at her.  
  
"You mean...you and Rhiannon?" I asked, flabbergasted. She nodded, blushing slightly.  
  
"How else do you think I can put up with him all year?"  
  
"I... don't know. You two never seemed...er...affectionate, I guess. You always seemed so business like."  
  
She shrugged. "Work now, play later." She gave me a quick hug, which seemed odd though pleasant, and then dashed over to the Head Boy, silencing his protests to her delay by snatching him by the collar and tugging him along. I would have laughed, had I not been so rudely interrupted.  
  
"Smiling again? It's a little soon, don't you think?" someone hissed into my ear. I staggered away from the oily voice just in time to notice Blaise standing directly behind me, her back facing me as she looked up into the gray sky. My fear instantly turned into irritation, and I cursed myself for showing weakness.  
  
"You've got some nerve on you," I whispered, and made to walk away. I wouldn't let her ruin my sense of calm now that I finally had a hold on it. And I would've have gotten away, too, had she not uttered her vixen words.  
  
"Apparently I do, because Draco has taken a liking to it." She turned towards me and smiled prettily. I stopped walking, but didn't turn around, only watched her out of the corner of my eye.  
  
"He can do what he wants. It isn't my concern anymore."  
  
"Good," she suddenly snapped, fixing me with menacing eyes. "Because he shouldn't be your concern anymore." She leaned right into my face, her breath tinged with venom as it puffed out into white smoke before her. "I actually thought I had lost him, you know; having you in the way and all. But now I've got him wrapped around my little finger. He's forgotten all about you."  
  
I swallowed my pride, knowing that this wasn't the time or place to let it get in the way. If I was to be the better girl in this fight I had to be civil. Let Blaise throw the insults; at least I'd be left with a clean conscience.  
  
"If he's forgotten, then he's forgotten. Not my problem that he has someone like *you* around." She frowned at my lack of defense. I mentally patted myself on the back, told myself what a good little girl I was, and resumed to glare daggers at her.  
  
"What do you mean, someone like me?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Please. I'm not about to explain myself. I'm gone." I had barely turned my head to leave when her hand shot out and grabbed my forearm. I stared down at it, enraged that she had even touched me. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me."  
  
"Freely and gladly, but first, I want you to leave."  
  
"I am leaving--,"  
  
"I meant leave for good. I don't ever want to see you near Draco again. You know my power; I know one hell of a charm that would destroy you for life. So stay away from him."  
  
I frowned at her. The need to give her what she wanted and walk away was overridden by the need to kick her in the shins. "No," I countered. She seethed with anger.  
  
"Always the stubborn wench, aren't you?"  
  
I wrenched my arm out of hers. "You think you've got everything under control; you think the world is just going to bend on one knee before you. But you've never been more wrong. What makes you think I'm not going to tell Draco exactly what your doing right now? How do you know that I have every last piece of evidence that I need to put you in his bad books forever, since that is obviously your worst nightmare? You're pathetic as a villainess! It's almost sad." I pulled my hood up over my head, shielding my face from the stinging cold. "Now if you don't mind, I've got a horribly planned evil plot to thwart." But instead of the searing rage I expected from Blaise, I noticed that she was actually laughing.  
  
"You dare to underestimate me? Draco's nowhere on that train. He's back at the castle, waiting for a private carriage from his mother to take him home. But Narcissa hardly wants her ill son to travel alone, so I'm going to accompany him. Sorry to ruin your plans."  
  
I could feel the heat of my anger contradict the cold of the air. Not only was she terrible at gloating, spoke so candidly of the Madam of Malfoy Manor, told me what to do, was conning Draco and getting away with it, but it was also the fact that she was enjoying so mercilessly. No one was that ruthless...well, except for Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"Now, if you don't mind, I've got a sick Malfoy to tend to." And she had the impudence to act as if I had disturbed her! "And I'll be seeing you at the ball. Special request from your mother, you know." I'd trip her on the descent of the grand staircase. "I'm coming as the beautiful Queen Morgause, the Witch of Lothian." More like the b*tch of Lothian. "And don't worry your sorry little head over Draco. I'll be happy to accompany him to the ball."  
  
Well, if I really think about it, her last statement wasn't all that harsh. Sure it struck where the wound was fresh, but compared to her other faults, it wasn't that hard of a blow. But it was the mixture of her satisfied triumph and bipolar attitude that caused my annoyance to travel from my heart to the fire in my fist. You know, throwing someone a left hook really is gratifying.  
  
And as my enraged fist collided with her disgustingly pretty face, I heard Millicent come up behind me...and then heard her joyous guffaw as Blaise lay, spread-eagled, on the frozen platform.  
  
*  
  
I sat next to the window on the train ride home, Millicent dozing on the seat opposite me and a smile planted firmly on my face. My day couldn't have been better.  
  
Oh, but I knew what everyone was whispering all up and down the train. They didn't even bother to lower their voices outside of my compartment...not that I cared. They had all seen my little episode with Blaise, and they thought they knew what had happened: that I had been the bully and Blaise the underdog.  
  
Everyone thought I was being a spoiled brat, that I had blown things out of proportion all along. So it's no surprise that when I descend from the train at Platform 9 ¾ at the end of the trip, I will be shunned and cast out by my peers, being the emotionally challenged drama queen that I am. It will be no surprise that the corridors will instantly clear if I walk down them, or that everyone will glare at me if I pass them. Everyone's dislike would be justified.  
  
Well. They can all just suck down a bottle of Indian Lotus for all I care, because I don't give a damn to what any of them think.  
  
I am through with the self-pity, the morbid insanity, the wallowing misery, and the futile acts of redeeming my own self. The subject of Draco was on a close for now; in my current state, I wanted my life to be the way I was used to it, and then maybe I'd consider what to do about the shadows of romance. But I wasn't going to lock the door of my room and do some intense soul searching. Hardly. It was more of falling back into my own skin, and feeling comfortable in it again.  
  
I looked over at Millicent, her snores more of a steady rhythm to the natural sound of things rather than an annoyance. I suddenly wondered what character best suited Millie for the ball. I'd have to read up on it during the days preceding the event.  
  
I heard the voice of the jolly, old witch with the food cart from outside in the corridor. We were already passing the snowy hilltops when she stopped by our compartment and rapped on the window.  
  
"Anything I can get you, darlings?" she called. I turned my head towards the window and rested my chin on my hand. I grinned.  
  
"No, thank you," I answered.  
  
A/N: Yes, I have not updated in so long. Yes, I have been a very bad girl. No, I do not regret spending so much time on this chapter; it's my favorite chapter! Criticism welcome as long as it is civil and kind. I've had bitter reviews before and the made me feel bad. =( Oh, and just a side note to the people who were wondering, if you read my pen name backwards, (Recna den Eres), you'll find out what it means. And also for updates on this story and my others, (along with cookies for when I have writer's block), look to my live journal: Until next time, God bless. Holla! 


	19. The Way Revealed

Chapter Nineteen ~ The Way Revealed  
  
*Draco*  
  
"Draco? Draco? Time to get up...Draco, you need to wake up..."  
  
I groaned a little, shifted, and ignored the voice calling from somewhere off. I was flying, my body pressed into the handle of the broomstick. I liked it best when I was flying.  
  
"Draco, the carriage is here."  
  
I was tearing across the sky, dipping down over the Forbidden Forest with the hem of my cloak grazing the green canopy as I headed south... South. As far away from everything as I could get. In the distance I could see the beginnings of the English Channel. If I flew high enough, I could see a thin strip of land looming through the morning mist. It could have been France, or maybe even Belgium, I didn't care. I just wanted to get there. I would forget, I would start over; I'd do it right this time.  
  
"Miss Zabini...?"  
  
"Yeah, I know. Just, hold on, okay? Draco, hey. Wake up."  
  
I flattened myself against slender wood and dove towards the coast. A few images flashed past me as I pelted for the ground...a golden charm, a velvet satchel, a Lotus flower... I had broken through the barrier of trees, but the ground was still far, far away...a silver serpent, a priceless ring, a burning building...  
  
"Forgive me , Miss Zabini, but we really must be going. Lady Malfoy does not wish for you or her son to travel by dark."  
  
Seven points. Seven vital points...and then the ground came up to meet me...  
  
"Draco!"  
  
I jerked awake, my eyes snapping open to Blaise's face, leaning over me in a mixture of annoyance and worry. "What, what?" I asked, gripping the sides of the armchair and looking wildly around. But the common room was empty, just as it had been when I first came in, and it had not changed in the slightest. Well, except for the sulky looking wizard standing by the entrance. He wore a rather somber set of wizard's robes and his silver hair was crowned with the ugliest top hat I had ever seen.  
  
"Who's that?" I asked. Blaise glanced over my shoulder and nodded to the man. The old bat bowed slightly to her before retreating out of the room. "And what the hell was he doing here?"  
  
"That's the driver of the carriage, Draco. It's already here." She took hold of my arm and hoisted me to my feet. I had fallen too far into the idleness of the armchair, and my muscles were sore as I rubbed my back. I looked down at Blaise and noticed that she looked slightly winded, a little pale, and was harvesting a darkening bruise around her right eye.  
  
"What happened to you?" I prodded, failing in comfort and sounding accusing. "Did you get into a fight or something?"  
  
"Oh, no. It's nothing. I ran into a door is all."  
  
I leaned forward, inspecting her eye. "People don't just run their eye into doors, Blaise," I said. She swallowed nervously and pushed me away, gently touching the bruising area.  
  
"I told you, it's nothing. Now come on, we don't want to get a late start." She fastened her hunter green traveling cloak around her shoulders and helped me into my own black one. I let her fasten the silver clasps as I stole for myself a quick glance around the room.  
  
"Why is it so empty here?" I asked her. She shrugged, not looking up from her work.  
  
"Everyone's gone home on the train. It left maybe half an hour ago."  
  
"Everyone left?"  
  
She nodded. "Everyone."  
  
"So no one from Slytherin is staying here for the holidays? I mean...no one?"  
  
"No." She snapped the silver hooks closed and smoothed out the fabric. It felt strange having her around to do almost everything for me, but it also felt comforting — in an odd, plutonic, I-wish-you-were-Pansy sort of way.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because." But she did not finish her sentence. It wasn't until I poked her did she answer. "Because they were all invited to Pellinore's castle."  
  
I gaped at her. "They're all going to the Parkinson ball? All of them?!"  
  
"You're asking too many questions that I can't answer," she suddenly snapped, losing her bite in the quietness of her voice. She grabbed my hand. "Now come on. We're going now." She dragged me across the stone floor and out into the twisting corridors of the dungeon. As we weaved our way through the familiar passages, keeping an unspoken treaty of silence between us, I tried to recall what I had been dreaming about before Blaise had woken me up. I could only scarcely recall something to do with flying, and that I was probably running from something. There were other random pictures as well, such as a ring, a Lotus flower, and the burning building. There were more, I was sure of it, but even if I could remember them they wouldn't have made any sense at all. I hated how the subconscious was able to strip people of their most vivid memories to their heart's knowledge, if you don't mind me saying.  
  
We mounted the staircase to the Entrance Hall where our peace was broken by the gentle chatter of the left behinds. Students of the remaining three houses roamed around; and it felt wrong to see no green amongst the school uniforms still being worn.  
  
"Turn up your hood," Blaise instructed, pulling the dark sheet of cloth over her flaming hair. I was about to do as instructed but I stopped midway, my eyes catching onto another pair staring directly at me from the marble staircase.  
  
I never did appreciate how Potter always had that revoltingly haunted look in his eyes. It was like he was always looking for something but was too damn stupid to find it. Now, add that type of potency to startling green and you've got yourself a whole new breed of Rasputins. It was a power I'd love to own but loathed at the fact that he had it instead of I. And there he was, standing over us like he owned the world, staring fiercely down at me, as if I were under him or something. I took a moment to sneer back at him, but he did not take the bait this time. He just continued staring; almost as if he was only watching because he wanted to watch.  
  
Unnerved my his unblinking stare, I reached up and pulled my hood over my head. I resumed to follow Blaise outside, but I glanced back in time to see that mentally challenged Ravenclaw come by and whisper something into his ear. Loony, I think her name was; I'm not sure. But she muttered something under breath, pointed prominently towards the west wing, and was on her way. After a moment, Potter followed behind her.  
  
"Master Malfoy," the wizard murmured, watching as I descended the steps and opening the carriage door for me. I glanced once at his top hat again, actually stifled a bout of laughter, and climbed in before Blaise. The carriage was nothing different from what I had seen before: a luxurious sitting room with a blazing fire in the hearth and two tankards of butterbeer waiting on the side table.  
  
"I hope it meets with your approval, sir."  
  
I waved my hand to the driver as Blaise climbed in behind me.  
  
"It's fine. Let's just go."  
  
He bowed his head and closed the door. "As you wish, Master Malfoy."  
  
"You should sit down." I was lead towards the nearest armchair and had one of the butterbeers thrust into by hands. I looked up to at least thank Blaise, but she was retreating to the back of the carriage, away from the roaring fire and into the shadows. She was fiddling with something around her neck, and I leaned around the back of the chair to get a better look. But the dancing flames refused to shed proper light on her figure, and I was denied her secret. "What were you doing?" I asked when she sat down to accompany my by the fire. But she shook her head and took the other tankard into her hand.  
  
"Like I said before, it's nothing." She took a quick sip of her butterbeer to close the discussion and so I let it be. For a few seconds we just sat there. Too tired to do much, we both just kind of sat there, pulling in the heat from the hearth. It wasn't until I felt the small jerk of the carriage did I know that we had begun to move, and then the small sway of the carriage lulled me into a deep rest once again.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Christian watched the carriage ride down the path, the Greek stallions pulling it along roaring and bucking their white heads. He waited until it had reached the far gate before venturing down the castle's front steps, his single, black satchel slung across one shoulder.  
  
Usually our mysterious Machiavelli could be found in the farthest reaches of the school train, housed near the back in his own private compartment, silently watching as the landscape passed him by. But this year was different, and he had watched the train leave as well.  
  
He trudged along the soggy pathway, the hem of his cloak soaked with the winter snow. He glanced up into the gray clouds, letting the wind bite furiously at his unprotected face. It did not show now, but there would be a vicious storm coming that night; he just hoped he would make it to a safe shelter before then. He ran a hand through his damp hair before drawing his hood up to cover his head, shielding himself from the inflicting cold.  
  
For a little while Christian walked in his own subtle silence, ignoring the need to think about anything at all and just simply being. He tried his hardest to stay on the outside, where snow swirled under his feet and the winter wind burned his cheeks with brittle kisses. It was easier to understand the outside rather than the inside.  
  
Inside, Christian was a raging mess of hate and anguish. He was a vicious storm of conspiracy and manipulation, a dangerous combination he had never intended to harbor. Inside he was a torn soul, an aging soul; a soul so weighted with petty problems that it was ready to lay down and die. It had loved and lost, hated and loathed, worked and connived, and hurt and lied. And the worst part of it all was that he had done such things to himself completely of his own will. His parents had never tormented him in his childhood, for it had been a luxurious though secluded one. No one had ever mentally degraded him, and no enemy had ever plotted against him. The core of his misery was the beating of his own heart because it told him that he was still alive.  
  
He suddenly dug into his trouser pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of parchment. He didn't have to read it, because he already knew the letter by heart. 'Come home,' it said, 'your mother is sick'. His father hadn't even the time to properly sign the meager note, which told him that his mother's illness had gone over the top this time.  
  
But Christian wasn't going home this Christmas holiday. He loved his mother, this was true, and he knew that he should be at her side, helping his father to tend her. It was the least either man could do, because it was his mother who had saved his father from ending up in Azkaban like the rest of the inner circle Death Eaters. Her ailment had come rushing back to her after a month of serenity, and Christian's father couldn't afford to leave her side. After a few convincing conversations and renewed vows of loyalty, the Dark Lord had allowed him absence on their break in at the Ministry, which ultimately saved him from family humiliation and life behind bars.  
  
And because of this great fortune granted to the Machiavelli household, it would be only logical that Christian return home to aid his mother in her recovery, no matter how short-lived it may be. But he couldn't go back...not after what his mother had written on the back of the letter, anyway.  
  
*Christian...dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.*  
  
Slowly and surely, Christian pocketed the parchment once more while keeping his steady pace. He soon found himself entering Hogsmeade, the snow lining the stores and shops and paving the cobblestone walkway with powder. He took his time walking through the wizard village. He decided he'd spend an evening indulging himself with a sweet, satisfying dinner and then a warm butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. It would be odd for him to pamper himself so, but he guessed he deserved it.  
  
Christian headed for a nice, secluded restaurant he had heard of, glad that most of the villagers were sitting warmly in their homes, sitting by fires and probably drinking hot cocoa with their sweet little families, not worrying about incestuous love, manipulative attraction, and unknown plots yet to be revealed. The streets before him were empty, and the echo of his boots surrounded him, encasing him in solitary bliss.  
  
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.  
  
Pride and honor for your country.  
  
It was the oldest lie in the book.  
  
Even if he could piece together some far-fetched meaning, it wouldn't come close to explaining what the message meant. He wished his mother had been a little more clear, but that never seemed to happen in old wizarding families.  
  
Christian walked into the dreary restaurant, settled himself in a booth in the corner and quietly ordered himself a warm drink. For the time spent waiting for his beverage he merely sat in a sort of stupor, glancing momentarily at the meager amount of costumers in the bistro. There was a bright flash of vivid red hair, and for a instant his breath caught and he straightened for a moment to get a better look. But when he saw that it wasn't Blaise, (far from her, actually), he slouched back into the cushions and cursed himself for showing so much excitement.  
  
He had loved her once, and then he had loved her again, and both times had ended in a tragic and horrifying mistake. Now he wasn't sure what he felt for her, but he knew that whenever he saw her, or thought about her, he wouldn't be able to suppress the fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach or the breathlessness that choked his throat. He blamed it on the stupid ring, the symbol of his adolescent carelessness.  
  
But for a moment he allowed himself to remember what it was like when he hadn't known who she really was. He hadn't fallen for her looks alone, but slowly allowed his love to grow as they spent time together and got to know each other. They had laughed on walks around the lake and snickered behind their books in the library. They had accompanied one another to their classes in between lessons and had spent the days before the Christmas holidays together bundled at the top of the North Tower, watching as the snow fell in their lazy dance from heaven to earth. Were mere kids allowed to feel such emotions as tranquil content and loving tenderness? Because he certainly had experienced such things with Blaise, and she with him. He had blessed her watching eyes and her musical voice; her flaming hair and even her bitter words. He had loved her so much.  
  
And now, as the waitress set the steaming mug before him at last, he realized he was close to loathing her. He had not felt the same emotions he had for her for Pansy now, but he respected the Parkinson girl, and he couldn't deny that she was attractive. And to watch Blaise influence the surrounding world to turn its back on her was slightly sickening to the soul...not to mention the fact that she had done it to get another boy's attention. But even if he loathed her, he could do nothing to stop her. She had his heart, and he had only his obedience to offer and defiance to swallow.  
  
Christian sipped at his drink and stared out the window. The street outside was a glorious and handsome array of worn cobblestones and ageless concrete, sprinkled with the white of the Yuletide season. But even in its visible appearance of a clever and wise roadway, it was really only an empty piece of stone under man's feet, essential for many purposes but hardly significant enough for a second glance.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I jumped out of the carriage I had ridden in from the train station and bounded up the manor steps, shielding myself from the roaring blizzard that seemed to have claimed all of Britain. I looked up towards the door and saw Conner standing next to the door, waiting to usher me into safe shelter.  
  
"Glad to have you back, Miss Parkinson," he said, placing one hand on my back and opening the door with the other. I nodded to him and hurried inside, pulling my hood off once the door closed and shaking out my wet sheet of hair.  
  
"Honestly, glad to be back," I answered, unhooking my cloak. Before I could even think I had it whisked away from me by an anonymous servant moving much too fast for me to see their face. "Oh...er, okay." I blinked, and suddenly became aware of the mad hustle and bustle swirling down the corridors and all along the stairway. Little paper airplanes were flying in determined paths all across the ceiling, and the noise of excitement, anticipation, and stress could be heard from everywhere.  
  
"Preparing for the ball, I presume?" I asked Conner, looking up as he shook the snow out of his black hair. He was tall, lean, and young, but he had the mind and attitudes of a wise adult, as did his brother.  
  
"It's been like this for the past two weeks," he sighed, watching as Chloe ran across the entrance hall, a roll of parchment in her hands and three other servants in tow, each one carrying a great load of black silk with them. "Half the time you'd think that we were having the ball in Camelot itself!"  
  
I smiled politely as he was immediately whisked away by Bryce to help with the rest of the preparations. I headed into the traffic that was our manor, swerving out of the way of screaming servants and the occasional trailing house elves hired to aid in serving during the ball. I tried looking for my mother, suddenly anxious for her presence. But she was no where on the first floor where most of the head servants were bellowing 'Sonorus' to their throats and scolding each other from across entire rooms. I decided to try the library and found that our mother-daughter intuition was very strong indeed.  
  
She was settled in the bay window, watching the blizzard rage on outside. She looked exhausted, with her hair in frizzy tendrils and shadows under her eyes. She had fallen half asleep with her forehead against the window pane, one hand resting on the amber necklace against her throat. I closed the door behind me and walked over to her, bending down to look her in the face.  
  
"Mother? Mother, I'm home."  
  
Her eyes fluttered open slowly and it took her a while to register who I was. She just sort of stared at me for a while, bringing up her hand to touch my face and see if I was real. "Morgaine?" she whispered, placing her cold finger against my temple. I smiled, despite the strangeness of our intimate connection and reached down to hug her.  
  
"Pansy, mother. I'm home from school."  
  
"Oh! Pansy, darling!" She wrapped her arms around me to return the hug, and I couldn't remember her squeezing me so hard before. When I was able to pull away she pushed me down on the bay seat next to her, looking me in the eyes. "I've missed you so much," she said, holding my hand in hers. I knew she was still worried about what had happened over the summer and the magical stress that had encased my body. I could almost envision her pacing the manor while I was at Hogwarts, wondering if I had collapsed that day or was emitting any strange electrical charges with my body.  
  
"Don't worry," I said, answering her unasked question. "I've been fine for months...well, physically fine, that is."  
  
She frowned at me. "What do you mean by that?" she tried. I only shrugged, but it fueled her interest. "Pansy, did something happen at school?" she suddenly straightened then, taking her gaze away from me and scanning the room. "And where is Draco? I thought he'd like to take you home, as he's always had the decency to come and greet the Madam of the Manor." But then she noticed my rather uncomfortable look and realization dawned on her. "Oh. So something none too pleasant has occurred with Mr. Malfoy, I see?"  
  
"Mum, I don't really want to talk about it."  
  
Thankfully she took the hint and let the subject drop for that night. "Okay then, if that's how we'll deal with it."  
  
I hastily changed the subject. "So how have the ball preparations been going?" I asked. Sadly for me, this was the wrong subject to switch to. My mother pulled the one-eighty from happily concerned parent to power- hungry dictator, jumping to her feet in a fit of emphasis.  
  
"It's been utter chaos!" she cried, staring at the closed library door where the rest of the household was busy yelling at each other as well. "I don't know what I was thinking, holding the Christmas ball this year. I still have to send word for the minstrel and gather together the R.S.V.P list for the announcements. I haven't even the time to rehearse the servant's entrances yet! That's why I'm in here...I needed somewhere to rest and there are people everywhere, yelling this and yelling that; yelling at me! Sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm the Madam of the house anymore!" She was pacing around in front of me, counting off tasks on her fingers. I couldn't help but laugh a little, glad that she was so busy with her thoughts that she didn't notice. "Pansy, I haven't even prepared our gowns for the ball. We'll come to our own gathering wearing nothing but rags! And the episode with the wands is another thing, along with the restoration of the castle itself and--,"  
  
"Wait a minute," I said, cutting her off and standing up as well. "Go back there a little bit, Mum."  
  
"Go back to what, dear?" she asked, slightly befuddled.  
  
"Back to the part about the wands."  
  
My mother turned to stare at me for a while before answering. Her face betrayed nothing to give me a clue to whether the wands were a good thing or a bad thing, but it was extremely blank, and it did not fit her. "Let's not talk about that right now, Pansy. We'll have time later." She rested a hand on my shoulder but I didn't trust the shiver that ran through her fingers. She had learned the consequences of not telling me things before, so why was she pulling the same stunt now? But I didn't have the heart to accuse her right then and there. I'd play along and let the subject be...for now.  
  
"So, honey," she started again, trying to relieve some of the unwanted tension in the room. "Have you decided on your character for the ball yet?"  
  
"No." She mock frowned at me, and I couldn't help but smile. "But somehow I have a feeling that you have someone in mind for me."  
  
She straightened out her shoulders and lifted her chin, looking down her nose at me in an attempt to look even more dignified. "Well, your old mother is going as the High Queen Igraine, now isn't she? That only makes it sensible that you are either Morgan or Morgause for the ball."  
  
I let out a bark of laughter. "You can cross Morgause off of that list, mum. Blaise has already taken that title."  
  
"Did she now? Well, that would have been a fun part to play..."  
  
"Of course! Seducing your own brother to your bed is always the best icebreaker in tough conversations."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "There's more to the Witch of Lothian than all of that, Pansy," she said sincerely. It seemed that inbreeding was not a subject my mother was comfortable with. If only she knew the truth about Blaise. "She was a very powerful sorceress at times, you know."  
  
"You don't say?" I answered exaggeratedly, clapping my hands together in bubbling excitement. My mother did not appreciate the joke.  
  
"Seriously though, you need to know more about your legends before the coming of the ball...which is why you will be spending the rest of tonight studying your characters here in the library."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Don't argue with me, Pansy."  
  
I looked past her and towards the table where a conveniently stack of Arthurian books sat waiting to be riffled through. "You're kidding, right? I mean, I just got back from school. This supposed to be my vacation from books and studying and what not."  
  
"I don't care. You're learning your characters and you're learning them tonight. End of discussion."  
  
"But why?" I whined, stamping my foot like I used to do when I was a little girl. My mom rolled her eyes.  
  
"Because, I want my daughter to shine with radiance and knowledge when she descends the steps, charming everyone with her wisdom and boundless understanding." I raised an eyebrow at her and she dropped the recital act. "And because I want to prove to Priya Rackham that this years theme is not too complicated to administer and that we know enough historical data to throw a fantastic ball alongside tying it all together in one magnificent idea."  
  
I stared at her. "Right."  
  
Just then the library doors were thrust open and there stood Conner and Bryce, both rather red in the face and breathing very hard. Actually, Conner was struggling not to laugh while his brother cast aggravated eyes on him. "Madam Parkinson!" Bryce cried, stepping forward. My mother sighed audibly and turned towards them.  
  
"What now, boys?" she asked. I grinned as Conner bit down hard on his lip so as not to make a sound.  
  
"It's Regina, madam."  
  
There was a very long pause. My mother looked back at me, then to the brothers, then to me, then to the brothers again. "Well?!" she urged. Bryce was suddenly snapped out of his silence and straightened up to speak again.  
  
"Er...I don't know how to say this, Madam, but—uh...do you recall importing the enchanted mist from Cornwall not too long ago?"  
  
My mother narrowed her eyes in suspicions. "Yes, boy. I remember very well sending the owl myself. Why?"  
  
He attempted a smile to lighten the mood, which failed miserably and only made Zhyerra Parkinson even more anxious. "Well, it just arrived a few minutes ago and Regina was levitating it into the dining room along with the other adornments when it...er...dropped."  
  
She suddenly went deathly pale. "What happened?" she asked, speaking very slowly.  
  
"Well, we can't find the dining room anymore."  
  
"What?"  
  
Conner stepped forward, still trying to regain himself. "It's been shrouded in the mist, Madam, and I think we'll need a priestess to get through."  
  
"Stop it, Con! Now you're just acting silly," Bryce snapped.  
  
"I'm not! I'm dead serious. How do you think we're going to find the dining room now?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Exactly why I suggested the priestess, you half-wit."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry! Let me go retrieve her from the crate then!"  
  
"Boys!" My mother was massaging her temples, her eyes screwed shut in attempts to hold her annoyance. "Oh, great Mithra...I can't believe this. Okay, let's go then. Show me where all Hell has broken lose."  
  
"More like all of Faerie, Madam."  
  
Bryce shoved his brother away from the door and out of my mother's way. "Will you shut up, Conner?"  
  
"Just show me the damage! Good heavens. And Pansy!" My mother turned back to me, one hand resting on the doorjamb. The candlelight caught onto her signet ring and it flashed a dark black. "I want you to study tonight. You can go ahead and bring those books into your room, but there will be servants there packing your things. We're going to the castle early to oversee the preparations and we'll be staying there on into the next year. Are you okay with that?"  
  
I shrugged. "Do I really have a choice?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, alright then."  
  
She smiled. "And Madam Tsion will be in tomorrow morning to fit you for your robes." I nodded in response. "Good luck," she added, jerking her head towards the stack of books before following the fading, quarrelling voices of Bryce and Conner to the mayhem downstairs.  
  
As the door closed I turned back toward the window. Outside the blizzard raged on, beating Britain with its vengeful rage. The sky was nothing but black and white swirling together in a blurred haze, the wind howling mournfully as it threaded its way through the snow and darkness. Although the library was warmed by the ignited flambeauxs I couldn't help the shiver that traveled up my spine. Bad weather always had its own way of making one feel uncomfortable.  
  
I turned back to the dreaded books and walked over to the pile. I quickly scanned through the titles, filtering out the less-than-interesting sounding ones and taking the others into my arms. When I was weighed down by as many volumes as I could carry I left the room to re-enter the hustle and bustle of the manor. And even though I wanted privacy more than I could have ever hoped for, I didn't want to be alone in an empty room with nature's fury raging outside and the land of Faerie waiting downstairs.  
  
*Draco*  
  
I was really tired when I got home. Really, really tired. Dead to the worlds of Heaven and Hell tired. The entire nine hour trip from the Scotland border to my manor in ancient Elmet I was asleep. I woke once for about ten minutes only to eat and drink something, but otherwise I was caught in slumber all the way. To say the least, it was a rather pleasant trip. Blaise, who didn't seem to have the internal fatigue to sleep for nine hours, found something to busy herself with whilst I dozed. And when I did wake up she was right there, waiting with a tray of food.  
  
When we finally reached the manor she had to shake me awake several times once more. I woke up with a start, again, but almost decapitated her as my hand lashed out, wand clutched tightly in my fingers. I remember having the same strange dream of flying and images, although I suppose it made less sense now than it did earlier. It wasn't until the strange top- hat wizard opened the door for me did I wonder where she would go next. We had probably passed Lothian eons ago, and if she was still here she was most certainly not going home.  
  
"So...where are you headed to next?" I asked. She shrugged.  
  
"Home, I guess. Seems the most logical, right?"  
  
"But we've passed right through Lothian maybe six, seven hours ago. Isn't it a little late?"  
  
She tucked her hair behind her ear and began fingering the necklace that hung around her neck. I noticed through her fingers that it was that 'supposed' family ring she always had with her. After a few seconds I got annoyed with her fiddling and forced her hand away. "Don't do that anymore," I told her. "It's distracting." She blushed furiously.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"So how are you getting home? Why aren't you already home?"  
  
She nodded toward the open carriage door where the walkway to the doors was barely visible through the raging storm. I had not even heard the blizzard, let alone notice it. Inside the carriage it was warm and cozy while outside it was a savage act of Mother Nature's revenge. "There's a Floo Hub in the village fifteen miles from here. Your mother has signed the carriage under my surname so it can take me that far. Once I get there, I'll just Floo myself back to Lothian. Oh, don't look like that; it's not even that great of a storm." Outside one could hear the painful uprooting of trees. "Besides, your mother wanted someone with you to make sure you got home safe...and that you wouldn't spontaneously combust in your sleep."  
  
I rolled my eyes at my mother's paranoia. I knew that her worries would never really decrease from what happened over the summer...  
  
And then I cursed myself from within because remembering the summer made me remember Pansy; and remembering Pansy was a painful thing indeed.  
  
"That was nice of you," I said, hoping that I didn't sound too unenthusiastic. Remember, I was tired.  
  
But she nodded politely and took the compliment, however bland it had been. "Think nothing of it," she whispered. There was a short silence that followed...a very awkward and uncomfortable silence. She glanced up at me a few times and I just sort of stared at the far wall. Top-Hat called to me through the howling wind to hurry up...if it so pleased me. I ignored him. He could stand out in the storm for a little bit longer.  
  
"So I guess I'll see you at the ball?" I asked. She nodded silently.  
  
"Master Malfoy, if you could find it in your time, I'd like to escort you to the door," the wizard said. I waved an impatient hand to him.  
  
"Yes. Hold on."  
  
"I actually wanted to ask you about that," Blaise began. "I was planning to go as the Witch of Lothian, and--,"  
  
I grinned. "Going for the direct approach are we?" She suddenly looked at me with wide eyes, taking a frightened step backwards.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" she asked defensively. I shrugged meagerly. But she moved right into my face, eyes blazing, (if you can forgive the pun), and asked once again, "What do you mean?"  
  
"I meant that: A, you are a witch, and B, you live in Lothian. Hence, the Witch of Lothian." I stepped back from her. "Why, is that offensive in some way that isn't obvious to me?"  
  
She let out a long breath and calmed once again. It was this weird attitude of hers that I found first and foremost uncomfortable, along with her striking beauty and hideous tongue. "Oh...I thought — that makes much more...you're right," she stammered, smiling in a relieved way. I narrowed my eyes at her but I did not pursue the subject.  
  
"But back to your question," I prompted. She quickly snapped into her somewhat regular state and smiled at me once more.  
  
"Yes. Actually, since I was going as Queen Morgause, I was wondering if you...er, would like...since I don't have an—an escort..." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger nervously. I glanced down at my watch, internally urging her to just spit it out. "And, not that I'm implying anything about you and...well—you don't have to go as King Lot, but I was only wondering--,"  
  
"Master Malfoy! I pray you, please hurry! If I do not take Miss Zabini now it will be impossible to make it to the village! She'll have to stay the night here!"  
  
I immediately snatched my cloak from the back of the armchair and threw if over my shoulders, calling back to her as I crossed to the doorway. "I'll see you at the ball, okay?" I said, waving a hand at her. But she was stammering and sputtering, most likely appalled at my rude exit. "Just owl me what you were going ask," I suggested and grabbed the edge of the door. "Safe journey home," I said, and jumped out into the blizzard.  
  
"Watch your head," Top-Hat said, holding a rather large umbrella over my head. It was enchanted to keep the snow and sleet from pelting me, but it did not stop the penetrating cold; and it was a long walk up the steps and to the front door. When we did finally make it the wizard thumped twice on the wood and stepped back as one of the servants opened the door.  
  
"Young Master Malfoy," the man said, guiding me in. I quickly glanced back towards the carriage, but it was lost in the swirl of black and white.  
  
*  
  
I stood in the study only minutes later, squinting through the turmoil for the darkened shadow of the carriage. I was able to barely glimpse it and I was glad that it made it down the road without much difficulty. It was one thing to not want Blaise to stay the night in my home, but it would be another thing if she was murdered by the storm because of my less-than-comfortable status with her.  
  
I turned away from the window then strode over to the fireplace. It was usually cold and brittle in our manor and I needed to warm my limbs before journeying up to my room. I think a servant or a house-elf dropped by once or twice to check on me, but I ignored them, standing in front of the hearth and allowing my mind to be tantalized by the dancing flames. When I had thawed considerably I headed through the study doors and up the grand staircase, my cloak still draped about my shoulders.  
  
It seemed that the blizzard had brought the spirit out of the servants. There were many butlers and maids scurrying on each floor, hanging up the winter drapes and lighting the flambeauxs that were usually extinguished during summer. Many were dusting our the library, where my mother spent most of her bad weather days, while others were preparing the fencing room, where I spent most of mine. But I could not find my mother anywhere. This was only slightly strange; she was never the type to wait at the door upon my arrival and greet me enthusiastically as I entered. But she was usually near my room or within it, surveying the house-elves as they prepared my room for livable comfort once again. She was not there this time.  
  
I walked into an empty interior, my bed already turned down for that night's slumber and my trunk already unpacked and waiting patiently at the foot of my bed, and my belongings stored away in their rightful places. I quickly departed with my cloak and headed for the door once more, determined to find my mother. Odd as it may sound, I needed to talk to her.  
  
Before I left I glanced back out the window. The blizzard looked worse than ever.  
  
Even out in the corridors, although lit torches lined our walls and warmed the household, it was impossible not to shiver within oneself.  
  
I decided to roam the manor for a little bit before going to bed. I had vain hopes to find my mother and confide in her. What would I confide in her? I hadn't a clue; but I knew that I needed to talk to someone, and since the one person I wanted to talk to was the person who wanted to see me least, I decided to try my luck on the next best thing.  
  
It seemed that I ventured through my home in a sort of stupor, not really paying attention to where my feet were taking me, again, but I soon found myself outside of my parents bedroom, the one section of the house that was most forbidden...and the one section of the house where I would never look for her.  
  
I had always cautioned myself whenever I came within thirty feet of my parent's bedroom, not wanting to disturb them or get on the bad side of either mother or father. And because of this inbred vigilance, my mind was quickly telling my body to turn the other way and keep walking; but as the eyes are the most curious of specimens I could not. The door had been left slightly ajar, and my temptation was only worsened by the second most curious specimens: my ears.  
  
"I...I saw a...a man. I saw a man. On — the — stair..." a dead, lifeless whisper was saying from within. "When last...I lo—looked, he was...was not there. He was not there the other day. I wish...I wish...he'd go away." There was a shuddering intake of breath that followed, and then the rhyme was recited once more. "I saw a man...man. On the...the...."  
  
"Lucius. Who am I?"  
  
"A man on the stair. When last...I...looked, he was not..."  
  
"Lucius. I am your wife. What is my name?"  
  
"I looked."  
  
"My name is Narcissa. Do we have a son?"  
  
"He was not there."  
  
"Yes, we do. His name is Draco."  
  
I inched closer to the door, eager to hear more of the turmoil inside. I had not seen my father since the summer, and it was obvious that he had not changed from his current condition. And although I despised him for what he had done to me I pitied him as well. I did not like to think of my father as such a helpless man. And listening to my mother try and coax him back to sanity was pathetic as well as noble.  
  
"He was not there the other day. I wish, I wish he'd go away."  
  
I pushed open the door carefully, hoping to catch my parents in a candid moment where I might glimpse a side of them that I had never seen before. In this way I was very successful.  
  
It was dark inside their room, so I could hardly make out anything other than the grand bed in the middle and the two people sitting in it. My father sat upright near the right side, staring straight ahead and yet not seeing anything. His head was slightly titled in an almost thoughtful way and his hands were folded neatly over the covers. If anything, I'd say he looked more bored than insane. My mother, however, looked disheveled and tired where my father looked calm and serene. Her hair was piled messily atop her head, pale wisps framing her hollowed cheeks. She was not dressed in her usual regal dress, but was still in her night gown, the green satin of her robe almost consuming her. She was leaning right into my father's face, willing him to see her, it seemed. But he didn't, and I honestly did not expect him to.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked quietly, quickly departing with her determination. "Why are you sitting here like this? What am I supposed to do, Lucius? I cannot do what you do. I cannot do what He asks of me. Who would listen anyway? Why do you think you are here with me now instead of rotting away in some godforsaken cell? The women can do nothing! No one will listen to them...to us! You were here to take the burden from my shoulders, and yet now you give it back to me ten times over." She lifted a hand to my father's face, resting her palm against his cheek. He closed is eyes as their skin made contact and I could almost be sure he could feel it and that he knew she was speaking to him.  
  
"I saw..." he started to say, but then opened his eyes and looked dead once more. "...a man on the stair..."  
  
See, this is where the stereotypical pureblood family comes to rear its ugly head. My parents had never shown each other affection before. At least, not when people were around, not when I was around, and not when they were more or less alone. They just didn't do it. I never really thought there was any affection or compassion or loving between them, for that matter. But I knew they respected each other to the highest extent, and I was satisfied with that.  
  
And now, as I watched my mother take my father's hand in hers and kiss it, I was suddenly struck by the love they shared for one another. It came to me as a wave, almost so strong that it repulsed me. Why had they kept it to themselves like a secret from the enemy? Death Eaters were still people too, and love was still one of the greatest discoveries amongst our kind. So why had I never seen it before? Why, after sixteen years of living beside them, did I not know that my mother worshiped my father as her lord and more so as her husband until now? And did he feel the same way about her?  
  
"Draco needs you," she suddenly said, and I straightened at her words, seemingly holding my breath so I wouldn't miss a thing. "And I think he'll need you more than ever very soon." I almost snorted at her sentiment. There sat the man who would have willing watched me die. I could not think of any situation when I might need him. "After the ball everything will change, and he'll be lost. Very, very lost. When it happens, I will not be able to help him. The burden will fall to you, and you will not be there for him."  
  
A shudder ran through my spine. It was probably the millionth time I had bad thoughts about the Christmas ball, and it was only fueled by the elusiveness of my mother's ranting.  
  
She looked into his eyes and I wanted to believe that he looked into hers.  
  
"I am thine," she suddenly said in Latin, and leaned forward to his kiss his lifeless lips, her hands slipping his own around her waist. I quietly shut the door and walked to my room where I quickly crawled into bed and laid myself down to sleep. In the morning, I hardly remembered what happened at all.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
"So, how exactly did Mordred's parentage get so messed up?" I asked, flipping through 'The Once and Future King' as I lay on my bed. I looked up at Chloe who was one of the ladies in my room packing my things and shaking out every kind of dress robe I had. "It keeps changing every time I pick up a new book."  
  
"Well, the base of the situation stays the same each time," she said, polishing my jewelry and packing away only the largest, gaudiest, ugliest ones. I scowled as each one was laid in the chest. "In every story it is said that King Arthur lay with his half-sister unknowingly, therefore conceiving a child of incest. The sister, however seems to change along with the tides."  
  
"Hit me with your best shot," I said, pushing the book away and leaning against my headboard.  
  
"Well, there is one version that says the great sorceress or priestess, Morgan le Fey, was the half-sister who did the deed. They say she bewitched him to her bed." But Chloe wrinkled her noise to this claim and I knew she did not believe it. "But that's just Muggles getting their stories wrong. Morgan le Fey already plotted the downfall of Arthur and stole the sword Excalibur, she couldn't have been behind Mordred's parentage as well. It would have been too much!"  
  
"So than who is the real mother? Was it the witch, Queen Morgause?" I asked. She nodded somberly.  
  
"Aye, so it was."  
  
I frowned. "Well, how would you prove it?" I asked rather rudely. "They lived centuries and centuries ago; no one really knows the real story about them anyway."  
  
But she kept on placing the jewelry into the chest and acted as if my ignorance for the Arthurian legends was nothing but a child's whine. "Think of it in this light, miss. The Queen Morgause had four boys that we know of: Gawaine, Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth. Each of these boys played a large part in bringing down the glory of Camelot, whether it be known to them and or not. And we also know that Mordred was always brought up in Morgause's house and she found her way to overthrow the king in Mordred. What does that tell you? Why would Mordred be Morgause's ambition and not Morgan's?  
  
"Second to this claim is the night of the slaughter. Agravaine and his banished twin Gaheris lead a band of hot-headed youths into Queen Guinevere's chamber to try and catch her and Sir Lancelot in...well, a rather compromising position so they could formally accuse her. It turns into a slaughter where Lancelot, skilled man as he is, defeats each one of them, along with Gareth who meant him no harm and worshiped Lancelot as if he were his own father. Mordred, always seen in with the mob, is shocked and dismayed at the death of Gareth, the only good-hearted son of Queen Morgause. In some tales, he even weeps over his body. Now why would Mordred, who would be Gareth's cousin were he born to Morgan, feel such devastation over his body? They would not be close at all, for Morgan hardly ever came in contact with Morgause. But were they half brothers and grew up together then maybe it would make sense. Do you follow?"  
  
I cocked an eyebrow. "No," I said. She sighed heavily and turned away so I wouldn't see her roll her eyes. "But I think you're saying that Mordred's parents are King Arthur and his half-sister Queen Morgause, making him Arthur's son and nephew at the same time."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Right. He must be lucky to hold so many titles in one lifetime."  
  
"Of course, miss." She fell silent then and I knew I had offended her by speaking so little of British history that she obviously cherished. I also knew that, because she was the servant and I the served, she would say nothing against me. We were polite at times and even friendly, but there were just some lines that were never crossed.  
  
"So how about me?" I asked, breaking through the ice mainly because I did not want to sit in an uncomfortable silence all evening. "Which Arthurian do I best represent? Who can I go as to the ball? And speak regularly, Chloe. I'm not in the mood to here a server's squabble."  
  
She nodded her head respectably at me but I saw a flicker of a smile cross her lips. "Truth be told, lady, you represent many of the key characters. You look astonishingly like Morgan le Fey, with your dark hair and eyes; it is probably why your mother gave you her title. But you have the sustained dignity of Niniane or Viviane, Ladies of the Lake. But I remember when I came into service for your family long ago...you were only a wee little thing back then...and I remember the first name that came to my mind when I saw you: Morgaine."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The daughter of Queen Morgan le Fey and the old King Uriens. She was small and dark, like her mother, but she was kinder in her eyes and face and she was not so selfish of her compassion. She went through a rather hard time when she was only seven, one that changed her for the rest of her life--,"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"—Oh. Well, she was kidnapped by barbarians to the North and they treated her...brutally."  
  
"Brutally?"  
  
"Very, very brutally."  
  
I withdrew from the idea. "But why would she remind you of me?"  
  
Chloe shrugged, smiling. "Well, after her ordeal you can't imagine how scarring it could have been. She never spoke afterward and she feared any and all men from there on. But she had a gift. She was a magnificent healer; a simple touch of her hand could lift physical and emotional pain from your body and mind. And she had the Sight, giving her destiny over to the good of Avalon." She looked over to me. "You just looked so much like her. You were tiny and dark as a faerie, hardly talking at all. I just always thought the name and personality suited you. Your mother seemed to agree, for Madam Parkinson gave you her name as well."  
  
I turned away from her and stared out the window near my bed. The winter drapes were drawn, but I did not need to see the storm to know that its rage had finally hit its climax.  
  
"Was she neutral in things?" I suddenly asked, still looking away. Chloe paused for a moment before answering.  
  
"Neutral, miss?"  
  
"Yes. She wasn't caught up in any Arthurian romance octagons, was she?"  
  
She stifled a laugh despite my sarcastic disrespect. "No, she feared all kinds of men and trusted only Niniane as her mentor and foster mother. She trusted not even her birth mother, Queen Morgan. So yes. She was neutral."  
  
I grinned. I liked Morgaine already. She was a smart girl, to leave the ridiculous love tangles to the others.  
  
"Anything else you'd like to know about Camelot, miss? I know your mother wants you educated on the subject."  
  
I nodded, turning back to her and sitting up in my seat. "Yes, there's more. I'll give you a name and I want you to describe that person in one word. It'll be easier on me that way."  
  
"Alright."  
  
"King Arthur."  
  
She smiled. "Unbelievable."  
  
"Queen Guinevere."  
  
She sighed. "Goddess."  
  
"Sir Lancelot."  
  
She looked serene. "Noble."  
  
"Sir Mordred."  
  
She frowned. "Doomed."  
  
"Niniane, Lady of the Lake."  
  
Her eyes shone. "Powerful."  
  
"Merlin."  
  
She looked down. "Wise."  
  
"Morgan le Fey."  
  
Her hand went to her heart. "Determined."  
  
"Queen Morgause."  
  
She scowled. "Evil."  
  
"Sir Gawaine."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Hothead."  
  
"Sir Agravaine."  
  
Her brow furrowed. "Bitter."  
  
"Sir Gaheris, his twin."  
  
She winced. "Obsessed."  
  
"Sir Gareth."  
  
She softened. "Kind."  
  
I fell back amongst my pillows. "And Morgaine."  
  
She paused. "Unique."  
  
I turned over on my side, away from Chloe so that she could resume with her work. I gathered the pillow under my head and settled myself for a long night of sleep, not even taking the time to change into my pajamas.  
  
"Morgaine," I muttered, testing the name on my lips. It seemed at home when I said. I shrugged to no one in particular, speaking into the lavender and rosemary scent of my pillow. "Morgaine."  
  
*  
  
The following morning consisted of nothing more than screaming, arguing, a few flying objects, and Bryce finally losing his temper and transfiguring Conner into a koala.  
  
It started before dawn, before the sun had even thought about rising, and before I had even begun to truly sleep. It was probably around four that I felt myself being shaken awake, rather rudely I might add, and a loud, shrill voice could be heard ringing from everywhere around. I tried to ignore it time and time again, but it seemed to only increase as time went on so I finally woke up.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?" I cried, throwing the covers off of myself and sitting up, squinting around the room. It was still very dark outside, but a fire was blazing in the grate in my room and all the candles had been lit. I rubbed my eyes vigorously to clear my vision, but I still could hardly see anything. It was too early.  
  
"Here you go, miss," someone said to me. I looked to my right and saw Chloe standing there, holding out my glasses towards me. I stared at her for a few minutes before I understood that she wanted me to put them on. I had avoided using my glasses at all costs because one, they were a nuisance to remember, two, they were ugly, and three, they always seemed to remind me of Potter, even though they looked nothing like his.  
  
"I don't need those," I snapped, pushing her hand away. I was in a foul mood the minute I had opened my eyes and I wasn't going to mellow out any time soon. "Why are you here anyway?" I asked. "Were you the one shaking me?"  
  
She set my glasses aside and inclined her head to me. "I'm sorry miss, but your mother wished me to wake you up. You need to be fitted--,"  
  
"At this ridiculous hour?" I cried. "What kind of wish is that? And were you that annoying voice screeching away at some ungodly level? You could have killed me in my sleep!"  
  
"That ungodly screech," a different voice said, "would be me."  
  
I turned away from Chloe and saw another lady waiting at the foot of my bed. She was a small thing, barely my height and with the smallest, most precise hands I had ever seen. She looked to be of Indian descent, with her tanned, flawless skin and almond eyes. Her black hair was plaited down her back and she wore hoop earrings of fine silver. Her arms, though, were laden with different fabrics of all kinds, almost consuming her small frame.  
  
I scowled at her. "And who," I asked sarcastically, "are you?"  
  
"I am Madam Tsion," she snapped, her straight face producing the most charming accent I had ever heard. But that early in the morning, I hated it. "Up now. We've only got a few hours to create your dress robes."  
  
"How long do we have?"  
  
"Until nine."  
  
I rolled my eyes and fell back into bed. "Oh, well, pardon me. I wasn't aware that we only had *five bloody hours*." But the sheets were immediately whipped off me and I growled in frustration.  
  
"Sorry miss, but it's Madam Parkinson's orders," Chloe mumbled, backing into a corner of my room and bowing her head. I did not blame her, but I did blame Madam Tsion just because she was still standing there looking blankly at me.  
  
"Up now, girl. I want you to shower before we get started." She turned away then and headed for my vanity, weaving through chest after chest of fabrics, gemstones, trimmings and the like.  
  
"Who the hell is all this for?" I demanded, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and slowly getting up. "It looks like a damn craft store in here."  
  
"They're for your robes, miss."  
  
I glared over at Madam Tsion, sitting prettily at my vanity and laying something out on its surface. I looked back over to Chloe as I reached the bathroom door. "All this crap is for my robes?" I asked. She nodded. "Holy shit."  
  
I took a very long bath, spending as much time as I could and milking the service to its highest extent. When I finally emerged from the bathroom the sun had already begun to peek through the window and Madam Tsion and Chloe were laying out yards of fabric with their backs turned to me. I walked over to the drapes, pulling them aside and taking in the day after the storm.  
  
White.  
  
"It all seems to lack a sense of color, doesn't it?" I asked over my shoulder. Neither woman answered my question.  
  
"Over here, Miss Parkinson," came the heavy middle-eastern accent. "Come onto this dais and we will begin."  
  
I started over but stopped, looking back out the window. I couldn't seem to stop looking at the snow covering everything in an undisturbed, unblemished blanket of perfect white. It was majestic, yes, but unnerving as well. "White," I muttered to myself thoughtfully. "White, the color of purity--," And then I stopped myself, because those were the words Draco had said to me long ago. "Let's just get this over with."  
  
I stepped onto the small dais that had appeared in the middle of my room; a small, wooden island surrounded by a raging sea of satin, silk, linen, and lace. Three mirrors created a wall before me, and I looked up into my own face, a bit fazed to see what was standing there.  
  
I hadn't had a good, long look at myself for a long while. But I stood there before my own eyes, a person I recognized but couldn't remember being familiar with. I had grown a little since last I could remember, and my hair was long past my collarbone, a mere length of wet darkness hanging down my back. I wore only my pink robe and my neckline was exposed, revealing my pale skin and hollowed throat. I tilted my head to the side, staring into my face. I'd never before noticed how dark and strange my eyes looked, or how high my cheekbones were. But I leaned forward a little, pressing a finger to the tip of my nose. Maybe it wasn't as lethally pointy as others, but it certainly wasn't pug-nosed. I rather liked my nose.  
  
"I see what you mean," Madam Tsion said into my ear, her figure stepping onto the dais behind me. She placed her shapely hands on my shoulders and peeked around my arm, looking over at Chloe who was standing by one of the mirrors. "She looks exactly like her."  
  
"Like who?" I asked, softening a little as her eyes flashed while she touched my hair.  
  
"Like Morgaine," they both said. I couldn't help but smile.  
  
*Draco*  
  
"I'm not wearing it," I said, sitting in my armchair next to my bed with my arms crossed over my chest. Within my throat I could feel a great bought of laughter tickling my Adam's apple, pleading to come out; but the expression of joy and humor was suppressed by the mere hideousness of the situation.  
  
"But you are Mordred, the one true heir to the Pendragon line. I want you to look regal at this ball."  
  
"Mother, if you value my life for even the smallest bit, you would rather let me go stark naked rather than wear that."  
  
"It's traditional!"  
  
"It's ugly."  
  
She scoffed, shaking her head at me. "I know you're being difficult on purpose, Draco. You're wearing this ensemble whether you like it or not."  
  
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "Not even in death," I said, but I noticed the sudden hurt look on my mother's face and quickly withdrew my comment. "Sorry."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at me and set the costume onto my bed. "Fine. Fine." She turned away from me and headed for the door. "Don't wear it if you don't want to."  
  
"Merlin bless you," I answered sarcastically. She looked back at me and rolled her eyes.  
  
"But I'm calling in someone to fit you with proper robes for the ball. Probably tonight; I'll send an owl now. And you're having lunch with me." It was an order. "I'll see you at noon." And then she left.  
  
I sighed irritably and stood up from my chair, walking over to my bed and looking down at the garments. If I were to speak kindly I'd have to say that they weren't all that bad. They were period based, but it wasn't that hideous of an ensemble. There was the regular tunic of King Arthur's Companions, with comfortable breeches and cloak; it even had the Pendragon crest pinned near the shoulder. But I winced as I took in the gaudy coloring and overly elaborate trimmings. There was golden threading everywhere and I highly doubted that it was common for thousands of jewels to be embedded in the hemming. I picked up the grotesque thing and flung it to the back of my closet where it could die in peace.  
  
I walked over to my bed and laid my head on my pillow, my fever still lingering from my humiliating bought of hypothermia. But I knew there was much more to my unease then after affects of illness. Inside, my body was crying for human contact; for physical connection of any kind. More specifically, it was calling out for Pansy.  
  
Not only was my heart tearing itself to shreds over her absence, but my teenage hormones were getting the best of me, and I didn't like the fact that I had to repress them. I needed to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. I desperately needed something to get her off my mind.  
  
I quickly jumped out of bed and walked towards my door, checking my watch as I did so. I still had a couple of hours before midday when I would dine with my mother. Perfect.  
  
I quickly left the unnerving stillness of my chambers and hurried to the fencing room. A good hour or so of vigorous dueling would do me good. As I hurried down the steps I called out for Leo, the grounds keeper and the best fencing opponent in the household. To my impressed fortune, he was already waiting by the training room door, bowing his head to me and stepping aside so I could pass him.  
  
"Get suited and armed as fast as you can," I said to him, brushing past him and into the room. It was nothing but a large space of empty stone with bated, dead, and active swords hanging all around the walls. I walked over to the wall holding the dead swords, each one gleaming magnificently in its rack with dulled out edges so they wouldn't hurt. But when Leo came up beside me I motioned him to move away. He was a tall man with dark golden hair and a closed face. And though he towered over me he kept himself small in authority, and I highly appreciated his attempts at servitude.  
  
"Not today, Leo," I said, pushing up the sleeves of my shirt and taking up a sword. "I want you to fight with the active swords." Alarmed, he looked over to the far wall were the pointed, extremely dangerous weapons hung seemingly innocent in their brackets. He stared at me, stricken.  
  
"Sir, I don't think--," he started to say, but I cut him off. I was growing impatient and my restlessness did not lighten my mood.  
  
"That's right, you don't think. You were not hired to think. You were hired to do as the masters and madam of the house tell you to do. Now, as the current Master Malfoy of this manor, I am telling you to go over to that wall, choose whichever weapon you wish, and duel with me. Is that any more difficult than what I usually ask you?" I hadn't looked at him the whole time but was busy testing the weight of the blade in my hand. Leo seemed slightly confused by my statement.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think you understand the dangerous of using the active swords. You are not even suited for combat, and I have strict orders from your mother to never harm you in a duel. And if I were to use an active sword, you would be liable to use one as well so that the fight would be equal."  
  
I stopped my arm in mid-swing and glared over at him, noting with great satisfaction that he recoiled at the disgusted and sinister look on my face. I still had it.  
  
"Are you deaf?" I hissed, speaking through clenched teeth. "Or did you purposely not hear a word I just said? I told you...nay, I commanded you...to suit up, pick up one of the active swords, and duel with me. I couldn't care less about anything other than those very commands, understand?"  
  
He nodded respectably and turned away to prepare. I also turned my back to him and grinned, despite my façade of annoyance. It had been a long while since I had been arrogant and demanding, and it did wonders for my impatience. But beside it all, I really was prepared to brawl with nothing but the clothes on my back and a dead blade in hand. I did not want Leo to get hurt if I struck him, (because what good is a grounds keeper if he's crippled?), but I did want him to hurt me if he got past me. The pain would be welcomed and if it didn't get my mind off...certain things...then nothing would.  
  
"Are you ready?" I asked, turning around. Leo already stood waiting, a faceless, white-clothed adversary with a sparkling blade clutched in his hand. "That's better," I said, positioning myself across from him and falling into stance. "Your objective," I said, my palms already sweating against my grip on the hilt, "is to draw first blood." The head only nodded to me and fell into position as well. Before I knew it I heard the deafening clang of metal and saw the sharp edge hovering above my neck, the only thing in its way being my own sword. I grinned. "Very good," I said.  
  
*Pansy*  
  
I tore the silk fabric off of my shoulders and threw it to the ground. "I refuse to ever where pink again in my life," I hissed through clenched teeth. The statement greatly contradicted my own self, however. For the last hour I had stood on the dais in a damn pink slip and stood there while yard after yard of material was laid or draped about my shoulders by Chloe on orders of Madam Tsion. "I hate pink! It is the ugliest, filthiest color in the world."  
  
"But miss, you used to love pink. You—you still sort of do," Chloe answered. I sighed dramatically at her.  
  
"Well then, at the very moment in time and to support my argument, let's just say that I hate it with every fiber of my being, alright? Is that fine with you?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes, lady."  
  
"You're agitated," Madam Tsion said, fiddling with the thing she had laid on my vanity, her back turned to me and blocking my view of it. "You're very unpleasant this morning."  
  
I snorted. "Yeah, well what did you expect from a pureblood?" It had been one of the few times that I actually pulled the pureblood line as an excuse for my actions, but Madam Tsion did not seemed impressed by it at all.  
  
"Pureblood you may be, but you are not like most of them," she replied softly, and I acted as if I had not heard her. She walked over to me then, her wand in hand, and stepped up behind me. I narrowed my eyes at her but she only looked at me in the mirror, her face completely devoid of anything at all. "You criticize everything we have shown you, yet you have not told us what it is that you want." She flicked her wand and a sheet of iridescent black came and was draped about my shoulders. "The color of the night sky. From Avalon, the darkness was much more welcoming; and as you move, midnight would grace your steps."  
  
I stared at the hypnotizing black, titling my head back and forth so the color changed in front of my eyes. It was tantalizing, but not what I wanted. "Too mournful," I said, pulling it off and tossing it on the ground. Tsion nodded.  
  
"And its color would struggle too much against your dark eyes. But how about something more to a warrior's taste?" She held up a length of perfect red, the material thin enough so that I could see myself right through it. "All courtiers of Camelot dressed to compliment the King, and red was always the Pendragon's color."  
  
"Too blood thirsty," I said, quickly swatting the material away. "I don't want to walk in looking like I'd bathed in Saxon blood."  
  
She shrugged. "Of course not. Let's try something a bit more regal." She pointed her wand at a chest and a wave of deep purple and shimmering silver came flowing out of it. "The traditional colors of royalty. Besides, it says a lot to your surname and house."  
  
I turned my head away. "Too proud," I sighed, taking them in my hands and staring down at them. "Much too proud. And everyone will be wearing it on their robes somewhere or another."  
  
"Oh, well, now you have left me in a dead end, Miss Parkinson," Madam Tsion began. "You have said no to each one I personally have shown you, and yet there are no other colors permitted to your ball." She laid a hand on my shoulder and her touch sent shivers through my skin. "But what do you want?"  
  
I shrugged. "I don't kn--,"  
  
"I asked," she interrupted, although her tone remained still and quiet, "what do you want?"  
  
I looked down at her and then back at my reflection, completely hating how long this fitting was taking but also suddenly stricken at her question. Chloe must have felt the uneasiness of the situation as well, because she squeaked helplessly by the mirror and clamped a hand over her mouth. It almost seemed as if Madam Tsion wasn't asking only about my wardrobe.  
  
"What do I want?" I repeated, staring at myself. For a long time I hadn't really considered what I wanted. My decisions were usually based on what was for the best, or the most comfortable, or the most logical, or the most convenient. It had been ages since I truly thought about what I really wanted. I looked back at the Madam. "But what if what I want is the one thing I shouldn't have?"  
  
"Shouldn't have?" she asked, an actual grin touching her lips. "Who says you shouldn't have it?" she tried, and I looked away, stricken by the power of her words.  
  
"White," I said strongly, looking at myself. "I want white."  
  
"But miss..."  
  
"Shut up, Chloe," I snapped, lifting my chin. "I said I wanted white, and I want white."  
  
Madam Tsion smiled fully then and inclined her head to me. "As our lady wishes," she said, and waved her wand in front of me, whispering strongly under her breath. Within seconds I was caught in a whirlwind of pearl white with the feel of Persian silk and Lithuanian satin on my skin. I was trapped in a gauze cocoon with velvet lining every inch of it. I couldn't help it, I twirled and laughed like a giddy three year old. It was bloody *magical*. And then the next moment I was looking at myself thrice over, dressed in the most immaculate gown I had ever seen.  
  
It was simple enough; the sleeves were long and swelled at the wrists, draping down over my hands almost to floor. The neckline dipped in a shallow V, the collar stopping short and exposing my shoulders. The waist hug just tight enough and the skirt spilled out over my feet in a glistening array of woven snow. But it was the intricate yet subtle details that made the gown glorious. All along the hem and edges were the faintest shade of silver created by the tiny embroidered border of vines and leaves. A silver cord tied about my waist, the tassels ending at the front and falling down the middle in the courtiers fashion. Other than that it was nothing but shimmering white, and it was perfect.  
  
"Better than I had hoped for," Madam Tsion said, the tip of her wand tapping thoughtfully against her cheek. "The design originally did not come with added silver trimmings, for Morgaine was a modest girl, but I think they add a nice touch of royalty to the gown. And the lightness of it all makes your hair and eyes flawless, lady. It's as if you were dipped in midnight and bathed in the heavens."  
  
"So it looks as though the seamstress has a poet's tongue," I said, turning back and forth in the mirror, dazzled by her work. "But I must admit that this is unbelievable." I spun around and watched as the skirt blossomed out about me. "It's perfect," I said, stopping in front of Madam Tsion and bowing to her. She turned away from me and walked to my vanity.  
  
"It is not finished yet," she said. She beckoned me over and I did so, lifting the dress so it would not be harmed in anyway. When I reached her I gazed down her shoulder at the metal coffer and actually gasped. "A gypsy near the Giant's Dance traded it with me. She said it was a jewel straight from King Arthur's scabbard which was enchanted to protect him."  
  
My eyes glazed over as I reached down to touch the gem. It was a silver jewel, cut in the shape of a diamond and hanging from a simple white thong. It would have been a plain and crude adornment, had the stone not caught the candle light and shimmered with thousands of silver stars.  
  
"Who is it..."  
  
"I will let you wear it for the ball," she said, closing the lid of the small chest and turning to me. "But you must take good care of it, for when the moon sits high in the sky it will disappear and return to me."  
  
I laughed at her. "Oh, so now you're my fairy godmother?" I taunted. Her brow furrowed.  
  
"You're what?"  
  
"Nevermind."  
  
"But I am sincere. Take good care of it and it will take good care of you." She placed the coffer into my hands and walked passed me.  
  
"What's next, a set of glass slippers?" I whispered and she snorted in reply.  
  
"That is all the magic I can do here," she said. She pointed her wand at me and I found the gown had been blown off me and I stood in my camisole and robe once more. Madam Tsion now held the gown and was laying it out on my bed where Chloe could properly pack it away. "Good day to you, lady." She bowed low to me.  
  
"Will I see you again?" I asked without even thinking. She stared at me.  
  
"Lose that gemstone and I guarantee we will meet again." And with that she was out the door, the invasion of fabrics disappearing with her.  
  
Chloe picked up my gown gently and examined it. "Quite a character, that Madam Tsion," she said, and I had to agree with her. She was a strange woman. I wondered silently to myself if I would miss her; she had suddenly become quite close to me and I hadn't an inkling how or why.  
  
"The way she talks," I said, sitting down at my vanity and brushing my hair. "She weaves a spell with her voice."  
  
"Of course she does; she is a gypsy."  
  
"Really?" I asked, only lightly interested.  
  
Chloe knelt down to my trunk and began to carefully wrap the dress in a linen cloth before placing it inside. "Only gypsies can trade with gypsies."  
  
I shrugged, setting my brush down and turning toward her. I was about to ask her if she could tell me a little more about King Arthur when a loud bang resounded outside. We both flinched at the sound and I quickly walked to the door, pulling it open and peeking my head out...which I immediately withdrew as a large, ruffled looking owl came swooping in from the hallway. Voices could be heard from the grand staircase, and from the horrified yells to the whimpering apologies, I could tell that Bryce and Conner were at each other's throats again.  
  
"It wasn't my fault, Bryce! The owl just came up out of no where; how was I supposed to know that it was going to dive bomb me?"  
  
"It flew almost twenty feet away from you, Con! How the hell does one get scared of a *small* owl flying twenty feet away?!"  
  
"It wasn't small!"  
  
"It's barely bigger than my fist!"  
  
"Well, you've got a big fist."  
  
"Conner!"  
  
"Why do you keep yelling at me?"  
  
"Because you dropped the imported goblets from Shanghai!"  
  
"We can fix them."  
  
"That's not the point!"  
  
"You do know that your face is turning red, right? It looks like it's about to explode."  
  
"SHUT UP, CONNER!" There was an almighty blast and then silence dominated the manor. I glanced back at Chloe who was looking at me with wide, confused eyes. She walked over to the door and peeked out onto the landing.  
  
"Do you think he killed him?" she asked, smiling a little. I held back a laugh.  
  
"I hope not. Conner's the only one who can tame the unicorns." I heard a shriek, a gasp, and then a wave of nervous laughter echoed up to us. "Go check it out," I said, and Chloe quickly bowed to me and left the room. "Mother must be having a field day," I muttered to myself, closing the door to block out the noise. And as I turned around I suddenly remembered the owl that came swooping into my room; the cause of all the excitement downstairs. I looked up and saw him perched on the canopy of my bed, staring innocently at me and holding a scroll in its beak.  
  
"Troublesome little bugger, aren't you?" I said. The owl ruffled it's feathers at me and hooted, dropping the scroll onto the ground. I noticed something familiar about the thing, but I couldn't place my finger on it. I had seen it somewhere before, I was sure, although such a minute owl would usually be hard to miss unless one were looking for it. "Thanks," I said, bending down to retrieve the scroll. It hooted once more and then went on a flying rampage, zooming back and forth in the vastness of my room and barely missing the walls and windows.  
  
I turned away from it then and looked down at the scroll. My heart stopped beating. It was sealed with red wax, and the emblem stamped into it was that of the Gryffindor lion facing the Slytherin serpent, the paw and tail intertwined.  
  
I hastily broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, my fingers trembling viciously. But the long, agonizing letter of something or other that I had anticipated was not there. Instead, there was only a few short sentences, not enough to even make a decent paragraph. But they were words I had heard before, and they only befuddled me now more than ever:  
  
*Pansy,  
  
Don't trust anyone. Don't trust each other. If couriers come, couriers know. Houses must stand together, and not fall divided. Your deal will seal your fate.*  
  
*Draco*  
  
I ducked under another blow and rolled to the side, buying myself a few moments time as Leo struggled against the shock of his sword colliding with stone. I sprang to my feet and rushed for him, aiming for his unprotected left shoulder. But at the last minute he brought up the edge to block my blow, and we were once again engaged in a battle of speed rather than strength. At one point he came very close to actually taking off my right leg, but I jumped out of reach in time and allowed the near injury experience to fuel my moves. It wasn't until I cornered him against the window did my concentration waver.  
  
Something was moving outside of the window, but a thin sheen of frost glazed the glass, and I could only make out a blurry shimmer in the corner. But this distraction, however small it was, came at the exact wrong time. I was occupied long enough for Leo to push my blade aside and swipe his own across my shoulder. I cried out in pain as my shirt was torn to reveal a thick line of red underneath, the line thickening rapidly. I fell to one knee with the shock of the blow and dropped my weapon, letting it ring menacingly on the stone. Leo quickly pulled off his mask and bent at my side, his face pale and shocked.  
  
"Sir, I'm sorry! I did not know you were distracted until it was too late!"  
  
"Don't be sorry!" I cried, pushing him away from my arm. "I told you to draw first blood and you drew first blood! Now get out of here and call one of the healer maids to me, now!" I bit down hard on my tongue as my blood began to trail down my arm, making a garnet path against my skin under my shirt. With a hurried nod Leo jumped to my command and hurried out of the door, crying out for one of the maids. Tentatively, I looked down at the wound and winced.  
  
There was much more blood than I anticipated, but the cut was shallow enough that it would heal easily. I supposed that Leo hadn't put much force behind the strike but kept his skills at bay. This fact only angered me more than him actually hurting me; it meant that he had been holding back.  
  
With a sickening wave of hatred I looked back at the window and to the blurry little distraction that had caused such a mishap. I quickly reached up and lifted the latch of the window, pushing it open and allowing a quick, brittle wind to come rushing in. Riding the wind was a snowy, white owl, a small scroll held in its beak. I stared at the ghostly thing as it flew the perimeter of the room and landed a few feet in front of me, its black eyes fixing me with a knowing stare. I suddenly felt my eyes narrow and felt a dangerous swelling in my chest.  
  
"Potter," I hissed, glaring at the bird. Sure enough, the owl hooted solemnly as if in confirmation, and the scroll dropped at its feet. A rage began to build inside of me, so great that it momentarily pushed the thoughts of pain from my mind. What the hell was Potter's owl doing in my house? On my grounds?! How did that disgusting, famous Gryffindor bastard even dare to send me a letter? I quickly swatted a hand towards the owl, setting it into an alarmed flight.  
  
"Get out of here, you stupid creature," I cried, watching as it hooted at me indignantly and flew circles above my head. "And take your filthy letter with you!" But Potter's bird only grazed the top of my head and flew back out the window, immediately blending with the snow-covered landscape. I quickly shut the window behind it, thoroughly hoping that it would fly into a pole.  
  
Slowly and deliberately I looked back at the scroll. It was a small piece of parchment, hardly decent enough for a letter, but its size was not what had caught my attention. The imprint set into the wax was visible even from a distance. Pressed into the red seal was that of the Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin serpent, both tail and paw intertwined almost in a statement of friendship. In what I hoped was a fearless way rather than a trembling one, I reached out and snatched the scroll up, quickly smashing the seal on the stone with one hand and unrolling the parchment. There were barely four words on the thing, but they were enough to freeze the burning sensation spreading from my shoulder:  
  
*Draco,  
  
She's in danger.* 


	20. The Ways

A/N: Okay...I haven't updated in forever...yeah..................so now that we got that out of our system, I have a few story notes to give you.  
  
Number one, I'd like to say that yes, my timeline for the Christmas ball has gotten jumbled up and I've added and taken away days like a madwoman...but I'm changing that all right now in this chapter and making it to be tomorrow night...and B, I'd like to point out that this chapter is kind of, well, boring, (for me at least), but you need to read it or else you literally will not get anything that's coming up. Pay attention to Madame Tsion and Christian in this chapter, and remember what they say and do, okay?  
  
Other than that, this is the last chapter before the dreaded Christmas ball, so I hope you enjoy! Please review and thanks for bearing the wait for me. =) Oh, and beware for a cheesy, though a foreshadowing, ending. =D  
  
Chapter Twenty The Ways  
  
Pansy  
  
Pellinore's castle was a magnificent place indeed. The courtyard had been renovated and reconstructed to be more presentable and festive, and the grand entranceway was a work of ancient art. Seven turrets rose up from the stone core, some from the original design and others magically added. One of them had a grand balcony that could be seen from the ground, and it looked out towards the west and over to the Irish Sea. It was breathtaking.  
  
And yet I could not fully enjoy the arrival to the castle because of a stupid little scroll that happened to come from a stupid little owl. A stupid little owl that refused to leave my room until I threatened it with a tea strainer. But even after it left and Chloe came back into the room followed by Bryce and a rather sullen looking koala bear, and after my mother came in later on dressed in her traveling cloak and telling me to hurry because the carriage was here, and after I passed by the dining where a great, thick mist hung on the floor and walls, I was silent and solemn, hardly speaking a word and taking the lack of notice rather well. I wouldn't have spoken to anyone anyway.  
  
It was a small mystery of who had sent the message in the first place because Granger had more than given herself away when she first spoke the phrase to me. What I didn't get was why she was working so hard to befriend me after five years of being very good, well-meaning enemies. It was in light of the return of the Dark Lord, no doubt, but there were even some barriers that were risky to cross, no matter what the situation.  
  
"Come out, Pansy." My mother was calling to me from the steps to the entrance, her face looking up into the castle turrets, suddenly alive with excitement. "Will you look at this?" she asked as I quietly slipped out of the carriage. "Will you just take a good look at this?!"  
  
"Yeah, it's amazing," I said, less than enthusiastic. She didn't seem to notice.  
  
"I hadn't known that the renovations had gone so well! It's magnificent! Absolutely breathtaking. And can you smell that sea breeze?" She took a great breath and let it out slowly, her breath making a thick white cloud in front of her face. "So clean. So fresh."  
  
And I couldn't disagree. I stood facing the wall that separated us from the water beyond. The sweet, clean scent of salt and rain wafted in from the sea, the winter weather adding to its brisk smell. It was enough to clear my head and relieve some of the stress I had been feeling since the morning.  
  
"All right then, we have the rest of this year to enjoy this castle. Right now, we've got a ball to prepare for and only one afternoon and evening to do so!" My mother clapped her hands together and the trail of carriages that had followed behind us began to overflow with servants, house-elves, decorum, and one disheveled looking koala bear. "Pansy...Pansy!" I spun around towards my mother and saw that she was already in the entrance way, once again beckoning my oblivious self to follow her. "Come, I want to show you the court and dancing hall!"  
  
Before I could say anything in reply she had already taken me by the hand and began leading me through the dark corridors, where the fire torches and brackets had yet to be lit. We crossed the entrance hall, which was a grand room indeed, and she ducked into an alcove to the right, which led us to a pair of great, mahogany doors.  
  
"Of course, King Pellinore did not have access to this kind of wood," she said, running her hand along the way of the grain. "But I thought it would be a nice touch."  
  
"Hmm..." was the only response I had energy for at that moment. But it was enough for her. She took it as her cue and pushed open the doors which groaned open with ancient years suddenly renewed. I looked up and gasped.  
  
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the palace Versailles or anything. To be completely honest, it was downright miserable. There were sheets of cobwebs draping the ceiling and the curtains framing the two-story windows were mournful and ghostly. A thick layer of dust coated the marble floor and the tapestries lining the walls were moth eaten and dreary. But despite all this, it was the most magnificent place I had ever seen.  
  
It was much bigger than the Great Hall, with a high, arched ceiling that spoke of thousands of celebrations where the sound of festivities could echo back ten times more than what was given. It stretched on to what seemed like forever and each window could be opened up into an entrance leading out onto a grand garden courtyard. Through the dust, one could see the colorful patchwork of tiles and such, showing only the fraction of the majestic image that overtook the entire floor. Near the back of the hall, almost concealed in a corner to the right, was a deerskin draped over an entrance, probably leading towards the kitchen. It all looked ancient, mysterious and powerful. Even the sweeping staircase that led from the mahogany doors down to the main floor were old and tattered, but the remnants of something once grand could not be denied. I was captivated by this hall alone.  
  
"There's still a lot of cleaning up to do," my mother said, her voice echoing from the middle of the hall. She had her hands on her hips and was staring up at the fluttering cobwebs and cracked ceiling. "That'll take the rest of today. At least the place has been eliminated of all infestation. Afterwards, the décor will be set with a flick of my wand and we'll be ready for tomorrow night!" She spread her arms wide, the word 'night' refusing to die as it ricocheted off the acoustic walls. I managed a decent smile to her from the middle of the staircase.  
  
"I can hardly wait," I said, although I wasn't sure if I was being sarcastic or not. My mother took one final, appraising look around the hall and then turned back to me, exasperated.  
  
"All right then, let's go set you up in your chambers."  
  
My chambers were even more impressive.  
  
When we walked into the room at the top of the north tower we already found two house-elves and Chloe setting up my room to be livable. One house-elf was skittering around the bed, laying out bed furs and securing the beaded curtain surrounding its edge. My mother told me that it was typical to encase the bed with draped strings of water shells and ocean stones, but I still found the display very impressive. The other house-elf was tending to the hearth across from the bed stroking the fire silently. Chloe was standing by the tiny window, shaking out my white gown and laying it gently on a wooden table.  
  
"Now I want you to be very careful in the mornings and at night," mother was saying from the doorway. "The stone flooring can get very cold and I don't want you getting sick. And the window has no coverings, so be aware of the cold wind. The fire will be enchanted to keep going, but I just want to warn you--...Pansy! Where are you going?!"  
  
I wasn't really paying attention to anything she had been telling me, for I had already darted from the room and was running as fast as I could, the excitement building inside of me second after second. The minute I was in the hall I took a sharp turn to my left and pounded up the narrow steps of a winding stairwell. How did I know there was a stairway there? I couldn't tell you if I knew. But somehow my instincts were working ten fold at that moment and I soon found myself in front of the very door that I knew would lead me to the most spectacular moment of my life. I pushed through the tiny wooden door and burst out into the murderously cold air, my face stinging the minute it came in contact with the atmosphere. But I did not care, for before me stretched beauty in all its glory.  
  
The sea was an endless, timeless, eternal stretch of wonder before my eyes, going farther than my heart could carry me. It was an awesome sight, almost too much for me to handle; I thought for a moment that the vastness of the grey-blue shimmer would suffocate me. But then I took a deep breath, one that filled every last inch of my body with the fresh sea water, and I felt suddenly so...content. I walked over to the stone edge and leaned over, pressing myself into the thick atmosphere. If I were free enough to say so, I would have stayed there for the rest of my life and more.  
  
I sat down on the edge of the wall and hugged my cloak around my shoulders. I did not move for the next three hours, I did not speak for the next three hours, and I did not think for the next three hours. I only existed.  
  
Draco  
  
Three rapid knocks. An exasperated sigh. The sound of a hand slapping wood.  
  
"Draco? Draco, are you in there?"  
  
I stretched my legs out in front of myself and leaned my head back against the wood. I looked up above me into a shadowed canopy. I breathed deeply and was filled with the familiar scent of robes and richness. "I'm hear," I answered. My mother waited for more but I didn't give any.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked. I glanced at the closed door.  
  
"Playing Quidditch." I could almost see her rolling her eyes.  
  
"Draco, I want to take a look at your arm. Leo said that he cut you and I wanted to check if you're all right."  
  
"I'm fine, mother. One of the maids already took care of it. There isn't even a scar." I clenched my fist and relaxed it over and over again to keep from acting too rash. Acting rash would lead to questions, and questions were the one things I was trying to keep my mind clear of at the moment.  
  
"Draco..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why are you in the closet?"  
  
I sat up straight and parted the robes in front of me so I could get a better look at the door. A thin seam of light darted down between the wood and a shadow moved around beyond it. I started to reach forward to open it but then thought better of the action and withdrew into the darkness once again.  
  
"Draco, why are you in the closet?"  
  
My pulse beat rapidly in my throat. "No reason," I said. There was a pause.  
  
"Son, I was outside a while ago in the rose garden--,"  
  
"The rose garden is buried in snow. What were you doing out there?"  
  
"—and I noticed a white owl flying into the fencing room and then back out again only a few minutes before Leo came to find me and after he called a healer maid. Did it come for you, by chance?"  
  
"No."  
  
She drummed her fingers against the wooden grain. "Are you certain? Because when it flew in it was carrying a scroll and when it flew out it wasn't. If it was addressed to me I would have gotten it by now. And since I don't have it, and you are the only other person in this house with the power to override messages, I was wondering if you might have seen what it was."  
  
"No, I didn't."  
  
"Please stop lying."  
  
"What were you doing in the rose garden?"  
  
"Who's owl was that?"  
  
"The roses are frozen solid."  
  
"It sounds like it was from someone important."  
  
"You couldn't have gone out in this weather. You hate cold weather."  
  
"I want to know what the letter said, Draco."  
  
"I don't have the bloody letter, all right!" I banged my fist against the wall of the closet, causing the planks to shake dangerously under the stress. The shadow outside backed away instantly, taken by surprise from the sudden outburst. "That stupid bird didn't come for me! Now leave me alone!" I leaned back again, breathing hard as if I had run miles in my rage. I heard nothing from outside as my mother took in my frustration, but then the silent click of her heels faded as she headed towards the door and closed it behind her, leaving me to sulk and simmer in my dark closet.  
  
Yes, I know, you're probably wondering the same thing as her. What the hell was I doing in a closet?  
  
Well, for starters, it was the only place where could I sit and sulk in private, devoid of any and all distractions. Second, it was dark, secluded, and spacious yet contained, just the right characteristic I needed to prevent me from exploding in all directions at once. And all because of blasted Potter and his ruddy bird.  
  
First and foremost of my feelings toward the letter was an unbridled rage and annoyance. He dared to send me something as controversial and dangerous as that four word note and not even give an explanation? Actually, I hardly thought it was Potter's doing but moreover the workings of at damn Mudblood. She always finds a way to meddle in everyone's life and everyone's problems. What I wouldn't give to see her face if she ever got a zero on a school paper.  
  
But besides the anger there was an undeniable pang of fear and apprehension that I shamed into extinction. The 'she' referred into the note was obvious, seeing as Granger was so keen on warning both Pansy and I, but the reference to 'danger' was lost on me. Like there weren't a million dangers going on in our lives already; which one did she want to warn me about? And to make it so vague and hazy, without any point in direction or purpose...  
  
"But that's not it, is it, Mr. Malfoy?" I asked myself, staring straight ahead of myself. "Those are not the reasons why you are hiding in your closet like some bloody girl...or worse; like some bloody coward." I passed a hand over my brow, wiping away the sweat. "It's because your afraid to do anything about it." And I was.  
  
Say that I took the warning into consideration and actually did something about it. What would I have done? Well, that's an easy answer. I would have taken the Portkey into Parkinson manor and stayed by Pansy's side until the day she died, making sure no harm would ever befall her...the only problem with that concept was that I had no right to do such a thing. She wasn't my girlfriend and my responsibility anymore; I had given her up on that level. And she wasn't even my friend and my reason for care or worry because I had given her up on that too. She technically was nothing to me, and I couldn't help nothing.  
  
So that was my reason for locking myself in a closet: to keep myself from doing anything rash and to hide from the fact that I wasn't going to do anything at all.  
  
Slowly and quietly I reached into my pocket and pulled out the scroll, the wax from the broken seal flaking off the surface and sprinkling the floor around me. I didn't open it or read it, (for I had done so many times already), but I just sat there and held it, hoping that it would do something so that I wouldn't have to. But, of course, it didn't, and I remained sitting there for a long, long, time.  
  
Christian plowed heavily through the snow, his legs sore from fighting against layer after layer of ice. His face stung from the wind and he could no longer feel his lower body, but he kept on going, knowing that relief and comfort were just a few yards away. Already he could smell and hear the salty breeze and roaring sea. The satchel he carried seemed to way tenfold now, but he ignored it. The ache in his shoulder was too great to give much notice anyway.  
  
But do not misunderstand his annoyances; he has not been venturing through harsh terrain the entire way. That would just be ludicrous. He had taken a train to Caer Narvon farther north than the old king's castle and then hired a carriage to take him as close to the monument as possible; but the storm had brought his journey to a close and the carriage could no longer follow the road as it disappeared under the blankets of snow. And that was where Christian paid the man and set off on foot, ignoring the wizard's warnings of sickness and death for venturing into such brutal conditions. But he had glanced back at the man and shrugged, taking his words into low regard. Even when the man offered to help him with a Shielding Charm to protect his body from the cold Christian did not listen. "It's too much trouble for you," he had said, "and I'll be fine either way".  
  
But he hadn't been fine. It had been much farther than he anticipated and it had been hours since he had seen the carriage driver. He couldn't wait to get inside by a warm fire and sleep until tomorrow, but the cold was bringing doubts to his mind...what if Parkinson did not accept him?  
  
He stopped suddenly, the satchel swinging against his leg as it's steady motion was interrupted. Christian stared into the sky, his dark eyes moving in a fluid, gentle matter as he followed the owl's movements in flight. The ghostly creature circled down towards him and he held out his arm, accepting the tired bird's grateful hoot. It was midnight black, with wide, glaring red eyes that somehow seemed less menacing than innocent. It held a small, ripped piece of parchment in its beak and not until Christian took it in his hands did he let it go. He stared at the owl for a while before flipping open the note and scanning its message. When he had read it over twice he looked up and then stroked the owls feathers before it set off for flight again. He smiled as he watched it disappear into the sky once more. He fingered the note delicately and looked back down at it.  
  
"Don't worry," he whispered, looking back up and at the majestic building that was Pellinore's castle. "I have not forgotten."  
  
Pansy  
  
I heard the door open behind me but I didn't give it much thought. I disregarded it as probably a servant checking up on me or maybe my mother; I didn't really care. Nothing could compare to the peace that I was experiencing up there, alone on my tower and staring into the vast, glassy grayness of--...  
  
"Pansy?"  
  
My heart stopped. My breath caught in my chest. I remember every muscle in my body tightening and holding fast as my mind tried to decipher who had spoken to me. Because who I thought it was...well, it couldn't be him. It wasn't impossible, but of all people to simply appear in my presence--...  
  
"Pansy? Are you okay?"  
  
I refused to turn around. I didn't want to. He wasn't real. I'd make it so he wasn't real. I'd ignore it; because how and why would he, of all people, come unannounced to Pellinore's castle, located, by the way, near the coast in a remote part of Britain where hardly anyone ever thinks to come near--...  
  
"Pansy, it's me. It's Christian."  
  
I turned around. He wasn't lying. He was standing there in front of me, with a satchel slung across his shoulder, his robes darkened near the hem from treading through snow, and his dark hair hanging in curling tendrils around his face. He looked tired and weather beaten, but he was still as handsome as ever. I was caught completely off guard.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I asked, rather rudely, but I didn't have time for courtesy. I was too busy being baffled.  
  
He smiled, and his smile was still as charming as before. "You don't sound happy to see me," he said.  
  
"Well, of course I'm not happy," I scoffed, and his face fell a little. "But it's only because I'm still trying to figure out if you're real or not." I came closer to him and noticed that there was a definite shadow of fatigue on his face and he seemed somewhat darkened in spirit. He simply stared at me as I brushed the hair from his face and tried to hide my shock at how cold he felt. "You're frozen solid," I breathed, grabbing onto his arm as I did so. "Come with me." I pulled him back through the doorway and we headed down the stairs with my voice ringing through the stone as I called for Chloe's assistance. She came immediately and didn't seem to find Christian as surprising as I had. In fact, she just inclined her head to him and welcomed him humbly to the castle. I quickly sent her to bring me something warm to eat and fresh robes. She smiled and did so without another word.  
  
"She seems nice," Christian said as I pushed him into my room and closed the door.  
  
"She is," was all the response I had time for. I quickly turned towards him and yanked the satchel off his shoulder. I took one of the many blankets from my bed, wrapped it hastily around his shoulders, and then forcibly shoved him into a seat in front of the fire. He looked up at me, wide-eyed, but said nothing. I understood his confusion, though, because I, myself, had no idea why I was being so vigorous. "Don't stray from that fire," I said, discarding my own cloak, heavy with sea mist, into my trunk. I grabbed my own blanket from the bed and wrapped it over my thin shirt and trousers. I sat down on the floor next to Christian and stared into the fire.  
  
"Hey, are you okay--,"  
  
"Shut up," I muttered, wrapping my arms around my knees and resting my chin on them. "Just shut up for a little bit, okay?" I rubbed my temples gently, closing my eyes and sighing deeply. "I need to gather my emotions really quick."  
  
"What emotions?"  
  
"The ones I left on the tower," I replied. "I need to compile all my anger into one so that I can fully express how outraged I am to see you here."  
  
He withdrew into his chair. "Oh."  
  
I covered my face with my hands for a few seconds and then threw back my hair from face, glaring up at him from my place on the floor. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked in a rather fatigued, only slightly angry voice. "No, wait, don't answer that just yet. First, I'd like to know how you got the confidence to come here like this without knowing whether I'd welcome you in or throw you out on your arse?"  
  
He didn't look at me at all; only stared into the fire, his hand absently rubbing the back of his neck. "I actually had no where else to go," he answered. I looked up at him, waiting for more, but he only shrugged in response.  
  
"Are you telling me that you don't have a home? That you don't live somewhere with your parents or something?"  
  
His hand dropped to his side. "Of course I have a home. I just—I just can't go back to it right now."  
  
"Well why not?" I snapped.  
  
"It's complicated."  
  
I snorted. "Life always seems to be so when you're around."  
  
He abruptly stood up then, the blanket falling from his shoulders. I watched as he walked around the chair, snatched his satchel from the floor and headed straight for the door.  
  
"Where are you going?" I asked, nonchalantly. I wasn't really concerned about whether he'd leave or stay.  
  
"I'm leaving," he replied. "It was a mistake to come here. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry if I've disturbed you." His hand went to the door.  
  
"Wait." He stopped and I turned around to face him. "You don't have to leave."  
  
"Yes I do."  
  
"No, you don't." The door opened and Chloe stood on the threshold, a folded pair of clothes in her hands a tray floating beside her.  
  
"Miss," she said, stepping past Christian and nodding to me. "Sir." She set the garments down on my bed and allowed the tray to float it's way over to my bedside. With that, and a quick incline of her head, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Christian glared after her.  
  
"She seems devoted to you," he remarked, and then left it at that.  
  
"Eat what she brought," I said, turning back to the fire. "And you can go ahead and change out of those wet clothes; before you get sick." There was a long pause that followed, and I thought that he had consented to my instructions obediently. But then I felt his presence standing over me, and he knelt down at my side and stared into my face.  
  
"I need to tell you something."  
  
"Tell me later."  
  
"It can't wait."  
  
"Yes, it can."  
  
He turned my face towards him. "It's important."  
  
"Nothing's important anymore," I answered. But then his hands gripped my arms forcibly and his flawless eyes flared.  
  
"I can't live without her. I can't stand to go through another day without knowing that she's mine. I want her, Pansy. I need her."  
  
I already knew of whom he spoke of...but I was in no mood to show any compassion. "Then why don't you go and bloody get her if you want?"  
  
"I don't know how. I need time to think. I need time to try and understand why I need her so badly. And that's time that I don't have."  
  
"And why, oh Troubled One, don't you have that time?"  
  
"Because!" His cry wretched the stillness, and the calm that I had cloaked myself with instantly disappeared. "It'll all be over Christmas night! Everything anyone has ever worked for, or prepared for, or built up in these last years will disintegrate after Christmas night! It'll all be gone, all of it! Don't you get it, Pansy? Haven't you or Malfoy figured it out yet?! The invitations, the Christmas ball, the gathering of purebloods, the location of a fortress, the requirement of wands...? It's all a set up. It's all been planned since the end of last year..."  
  
I leaned away from his crazed gaze, from his heaving chest, and from his deathly grip. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"War," he hissed. "I'm talking about war. On Christmas night, when the clock strikes twelve, the Dark Lord will declare his war on the world. Every witch, every wizard, every muggle will know it by the time morning comes rolling around and blood will be spilt before the night is over. It will be the war that every one, on both sides, have been dreading.... And by that time, it will be too late for anything."  
  
Draco  
  
The seamstress came about half an hour later.  
  
I was still in the closet at that time, and it took the house-elf eight knocks, five requests, and three pleadings to get me to open the door.  
  
"What do you want?" I asked through the crack in the door. The pathetic creature only whimpered and I shut the door in its face again. "Get out of my room, you filthy, little thing."  
  
"Come now, Mister Malfoy, I am not that small."  
  
I opened the door again, confused. I had definitely closed the door on the house-elf but it was a soft, soothing, heavily accented voice that had replied. "Who's out there?" I asked, poking my head back out. I scanned the floor and saw the hem of blue robes and followed them upward into the face of a very wise, very solemn looking woman. She was Asian Indian, with hoop earrings and long, black, plaited hair. She stood looking down at me with waiting eyes and the smallest hands I had ever seen folded in front of her.  
  
"Hello, Mister Malfoy."  
  
"Who the hell are you?" I asked. She didn't even smile, but I warmed to her immediately. Yeah, that's right, I bloody warmed up to her...just let it die. "And what are you doing in my room?"  
  
"Sh-she is the seamstress, sir," the house-elf said. I looked down at it, surprised that it had only stuttered once in its sentence. But the creature wasn't even looking at me; it was looking up at the woman with its big, bulging eyes wide with wonder. I guess it warmed up to her too. "Your mo-mother, Madame M-Malfoy, sent for her to dress you for the ball."  
  
"Her?" I asked. "You?" The woman didn't even nod. "You're the seamstress?" She didn't answer me.  
  
"She comes hi-hig-highly recommended, sir." The house-elf seemed to almost smile at the lady and she glanced down at it and inclined her head just the smallest bit. This outraged me only because she had regarded it instead of me.  
  
"Well," I started, opening the door a little more. "What's her name?"  
  
"Tsion," she said, folding her body in half and bowing to me. "Madame Tsion."  
  
I cocked an eyebrow. "All right." I turned to the house-elf. "You can go now," I snapped, and the thing jumped and scattered within a heartbeat. When it had gone I turned my attention back to Madame Tsion; she hadn't move. "So you're going to get me ready for this ball?" I asked. This time she nodded. "You're not going to dress me up like some morbid prat, are you?"  
  
"Come out here, Mister Malfoy, and we will find you something worthy of your name." She turned away from me and went to my bed, her feet moving so silently and smoothly that she almost seemed to be gliding across the stone. I shrugged half-heartedly and stood up from my closet. I closed it behind me and followed her to my bed. Lying on top of it were layers and layers of fabrics, designs, and trimmings. I picked one fabric up in my hands and let it run over my fingers. I looked back up at her.  
  
"Silk?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
I shrugged. "All right then; let's get this over with." I settled myself in the armchair next to the bed and leaned back, staring at Madam Tsion. She stared right back at me, although there was a searching look in her eyes that made me rather uncomfortable. "What?"  
  
"Are you worried?" she asked. I narrowed my eyes at her.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Ah, you are worried. It would be strange if you were not. But do not worry, I will hope that you find a solution soon."  
  
I straightened. "What are you talking about?" She pointed to my pillow and I looked over, only to see the dreadful scroll poking out from under it. I stiffened. "You read it?"  
  
"Unintentionally, I assure you, sir." She bowed apologetically to me, but I did not take it into account. The cold had begun to encase me again as I remembered the scroll's vague warning. "When your house-elf led me here I saw it had fallen open next to your bed. I bent to pick it up and return it to its rightful hiding place. I just assumed that it meant something to you, so I asked if you were worried."  
  
"Well, of course I'm worried...but that's none of your business. Your job is to get me ready for this ball tomorrow night." I snatched the scroll into my hand and stuffed it into my trouser pocket. Madam Tsion bowed once more and turned to the fabrics on the bed as if nothing she said had been an invasion of privacy, a break in protocol, or a simple extension of understanding.  
  
"First, I must know which character you have chosen to go to the ball as." She glanced over at me. I yawned audibly and leaned back once more.  
  
"My mother wishes me to go as Sir Mordred, the only son of King Arthur," I answered off-handedly. Tsion, however, did not take the role as languidly as I did. Her eyes seemed to widen only the smallest bit and she rubbed her temple lightly.  
  
"Sir Mordred, by the king's half-sister Morgause?" she asked. I nodded.  
  
"Yes, I suppose so."  
  
"The very same man who came to be Arthur's downfall?"  
  
"Yeah, that one. Are there any others?" She didn't answer me.  
  
"Please then, Mister Malfoy, come stand next to me." I cocked me head to her. "I cannot fit you if you are sitting down, sir. I will need you to stand next to me." I shrugged and stood up, coming to stand by her side. I hadn't noticed before that she was a small lady, maybe a few inches shy of my shoulder. She turned to look up at me and I was immediately filled with a strange, haunting feeling. She took out her wand and reached up to tap my head.  
  
"What was that for?" I asked as she turned back to stare at the sea of linens.  
  
"I cannot tell your height just from looking at you, so I needed your measurements." She tapped the tip of her wand against her cheek as she spoke. "What colors would the good knight desire?" she asked.  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"What colors, sir. What would Mister Malfoy prefer to be adorned in?" She waved her wand over the bed and few fabrics rippled and lifted themselves a few inches above its surface. "Black for night? Red for war? Purple for royalty? Maybe white for purity?"  
  
"We're not allowed to wear white," I blurted out. "It's not one of the required colors." Madame Tsion seemed to freeze all over and looked back at me, her face unreadable. Damn; and I thought I had the masking ability perfected.  
  
"Yes, I know," she answered. "I am aware that you are not allowed to wear white to this ball; I was just giving it to you as an alternative."  
  
"Well, you shouldn't have. White would be against the purebloods code. My mother would probably have my head if I wore white."  
  
At this, she seemed to gain a strange twinkle in her eyes. She gently took me by the elbow, her long fingers already familiar to me, and she led me to the middle of my room near the foot of my bed. She stood me in front of her and she examined my arm length, pant length, and broadness of shoulders. When she finished she turned away from me again. "You are exactly opposite her," she remarked.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
But, once again, she did not answer. She just gave her wand a great wave, muttered something in her thick accent, and then I soon found myself in a whirlwind of...fabric.  
  
"Nice theatrics," I muttered sarcastically. "What's with the tornado affect?" I reached out a hand to touch the swirling linens and was quickly responded to with an electrifying shock. I recoiled from the sides quickly. "What is this supposed to do?"  
  
"Quiet," she said, her voice echoing from where I could not see her. "Just wait."  
  
But there was no longer a need. The whirling cyclone vanished just as suddenly and just as strangely as it had begun. I saw Madame Tsion still standing next to my bed, though her expression was now more of an inspection rather than an inquisition. "Hmm..." she murmured, and I was somehow greatly annoyed by such a remark.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You are the exact opposite. It is strange." She pointed to my mirror across the room. I followed her direction and examined the garments that had suddenly appeared on me. To my great relief I was donned all in black, from the waist-long tunic to the loose-fitting breeches. A warriors cloak was fastened over my right shoulder with the emblem of the Pendragon line, and the traveling boots I wore were made from the finest cut of dragon hide. Impressed, I opened the cloak with my left hand and saw the proud glint of a silver hilt.  
  
"I must say, this is very imposing; I like your taste." I looked over at her. "Even a sword." Then I returned to her previous statement with a furrowed brow. "What are you talking about? What, exactly, am I the exact opposite of? Or to better phrase the question, whom?"  
  
She turned toward my window and went over to it, gazing out into the countryside beyond. The new fallen snow from the storm before was still out there, but its flawless face now held small blemishes here and there, where scurrying animals thought nothing of its majesty but only of their own survival. "Who is Morgaine?" she asked. She did not say so, but she had directed the question to my Arthurian knowledge which, as previously stated, I had none of.  
  
"...Er...I don't know..."  
  
"She was the daughter of Morgan le Fey and her aged husband King Uriens. She was destined as the new Lady of the Lake when Niniane would be gone." She touched the glass of the window and her hand left behind traces of her warmth. "Do you know what she was like?"  
  
"No."  
  
"She was mute, having been so since she was kidnapped at the age of seven. She was reserved and disciplined, and she had a calming presence about her. Do you know what she looked like?"  
  
"No."  
  
"She had dark, glistening hair, always left free to hang down her back. Her skin was pale, filled with the Avalon moonlight. Her eyes, sorrowful and knowledgeable, were almost black; and her hands, so nimble and fine, could heal with just a touch." She reached up and pulled the drapes over to cover the outside view. I just stood there, watching her, mesmerized by her story and its many hidden layers of mystery. "And yet you are Mordred, the cursed son of Arthur."  
  
I lifted my chin. "I may not know much about the legends, but I do know that there was more to Mordred than many people think."  
  
She looked at me sharply. "I never said there wasn't," she whispered. She moved over to my armchair and sat down, her strict eyes never leaving my face. "He was doomed to betray his father, no matter how he tried to fight the curse; the atrocious curse of incest. His father was advised to kill him, so he sent him adrift in a barge in hopes the sea would take him, but he landed on the shores of the Witch of Lothian, a woman who was both his mother and his aunt. And with her guidance he learned to loath and love the Once and Future King, condemning him to a crooked life meant to end in tragedy." She tore her eyes from my own and I seemed to breathe easier. She pulled out her wand again and pointed it to my bed, where the yards of fabric still lay. "Accio Scabbard," she said, and then turned back to me. "Now the question falls to you, Mister Malfoy, do you rule your destiny?"  
  
I watched as the glittering casing lifted itself from its hidden place amongst the silks, satins, and cottons. It floated lazily across the air and gently landed into the waiting palms of Madame Tsion, whose gaze couldn't have left my face if it wanted to. She ran one hand across the scabbard slowly. "Do you know what this is?" she asked.  
  
It was made from an old leather though deeply oiled as if it were brand new. Fine embroidery work had been done with silver and golden thread then wove in and out of a design of Celtic vines and leaves; and sewn right into the art were all sorts of gemstones, each one glittering as if they had never known the years. I watched as her hands lingered over an empty section of the scabbard, where one of the gemstones must have fallen off or had gone missing. "Yes," I answered tentatively. "I know what that is?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It is the legendary scabbard of King Arthur himself, enchanted so that he would never shed blood in battle." She nodded gravely at my answer. But I quickly lost my knowing façade and grew into the awe that the case encompassed. "Is it truly?" She nodded. "Where did you find it?"  
  
"It was given to me as a gift from a fisherman in southern Wales. He had received it as a gift from a traveling band of gypsies. He told me that they had been sailing on the Severn River when they came across it in a morning mist. It had just been floating there on the water's surface, as if nothing had bothered it since Morgan le Fey had last taken it from Arthur. No one knew of its great value until the fisherman showed it to me and explained from where it had traveled. I have kept it closely guarded ever since." She flicked her gaze down to the scabbard and then back up at me, extending her arms out in my direction. "It is yours for the ball," she said.  
  
"Are you serious?" I asked, unbelieving of her offer. People didn't just give things that valuable away, no matter how generous they were. There would be a price to pay, I was certain of it. "I can't take something like that from you."  
  
"You won't be taking anything away from me," she commented. "I am letting you borrow it for the ball and the ball only. If Arthur had his way, his son would have succeeded the throne after him; and he would have given him this scabbard had it not been taken away from him. Besides," she nodded her head to the sword belted to my waist. "You have no cover for that magnificent sword of yours."  
  
I quickly looked down to the blade and watched as it glinted merrily up at me. I looked back at the Madame, excited. "You're not saying that this is--,"  
  
"No, that is not Excalibur, the Sword Regalia. That legendary artifact disappeared into the Lake long ago. That is nothing more than a detailed duplicate of a Round Table sword. But it will be protected with the original scabbard, which I will put into your care." She stood up and glided over to me, her hands still outstretched to offer the scabbard. When she had reached a considerable distance I slowly allowed myself to accept the gift, looking at it in wonder for a few moments before I attached it to my tunic belt and slid the blade home. It rang as it descended into the scabbard, bouncing off the walls in a minute ascension of a soprano.  
  
"It's missing a jewel," I stated, turning back to my mirror and examining the added affect of the scabbard.  
  
"So are you," she said. I stared at her through the looking glass and she stared back. "You are missing something in your life that you cannot be complete without. This scabbard...Arthur lost it both by accident and on purpose; you have done the same thing. But what you can do that is different from Arthur is that you can get it back. All you have to do is find and place it carefully back where it belongs." She moved to my side and touched her hands to the hilt of the blade. I carefully watched as she slid it out of its casing and held it in front of her face, her eyes looking past either side of the blade. "You may have to fight for it, you may have to fight because of it, and you may have to fight with it...but in the end you will not be able to do without it." She laid the sword across her palms and titled her head in the mirror. "So I highly suggest that you prepare yourself for it."  
  
I turned to her. "Who are you really?" I asked, confused by her words and unnerved by her mind. She shrugged and handed the sword back to me, stepping away when I had taken the weight from her hands.  
  
"Just someone who knows far more than any normal seamstress should." She waved her wand and all the fabrics disappeared from the room, leaving behind hardly a trace that told of her extraordinary presence. "Do not lose that artifact because it is very precious to me and to many others of my kind. When the moon hits high rise it will disappear from your side and return to me, should it still be in your possession. The sword you will keep, but the scabbard must return home."  
  
She pointed her wand at me and a gust of wind enveloped me. When it had subsided I saw my robes had blown off me and had been laid neatly on the bed, leaving me in my trousers and shirt once more. "Nice trick," I commented.  
  
"And now I must leave you, for there are many places for me to be and many more people for me to meet. So I bid you goodbye and I wish you a Happy Christmas at your ball." She bowed low to me then but I did not like it. Somehow I thought that someone who held so much knowledge, so much wisdom, and so much dignity had no right bowing to someone as lowly as me. But she did so without a word and headed for the door. I watched her go silently but then stopped her before she opened the door.  
  
"Will I see you again?" I blurted, hoping that I didn't sound too sad that she was leaving. She turned her head to me and I could have sworn I almost saw her smile, but her face seemed to age right before my eyes and she became the embodiment of a judicious mentor whom I had always wished I'd known.  
  
"Lose that scabbard," she said, turning the handle and stepping out into the hallway, "and I guarantee we will meet again." And then the door closed behind her and she was gone.  
  
Pansy  
  
"War?" I repeated, crawling out of Christian's grip and moving more towards the fire. My body temperature had suddenly dropped even further and I wasn't sure if the blood still flowed through my veins. "A war?"  
  
"A war for the ages," he grumbled, settling back on the ground and calming himself. "A war that no one will be able to escape from." He sighed heavily and laid down onto the stone floor, despite its freezing surface. He covered his face with his hands and breathed in deeply. I was still shivering next to the fire, trying to understand what he had told me. Which, by the way, I was loathed to do in the first place. For the most of this year I had been force to comprehend situations and information that could have driven most people crazy, or at least confused them into an oblivion. And here I was again, attempting to sort out thoughts that I had had no intention of harboring in the first place. Like being a teenager isn't hard enough.  
  
"Every witch, every wizard, every muggle...--," I looked over to Christian and saw that his eyes were closed, one leg bent so his hand could massage his knee. I suspected that his joints hurt considerably from the cold. "And blood...before the night is over?" He did not open his eyes but he nodded silently to me. I hugged the blanket closer to myself.  
  
"It will be what my father calls the Second Holocaust, to put it lightly. Many will die that night, and they will die in more ways than one, I can assure you."  
  
"But how do you know all this?" I questioned. "How did you find out? Does anyone else know? Do any of the adults know?"  
  
He laughed a bitter and cynical laugh that sounded sour coming from him. "You're talking about adults who haven't got the capacity to know these things! Those who are attending the ball will be men who were too spineless to directly serve the Dark Lord, women who are too timid to stand up for themselves, and wives who have lost their husbands to Azkaban! You cannot expect them to know any more than they should."  
  
"Then how do you know?" I snapped, enraged once more by his acid speech. "How is it that you and your father know of the Dark Lord's intentions when hundreds of others do not?"  
  
"I already told you," he grumbled, annoyed with my retort. "I have lived almost my entire life in the shadows...people say a lot of things when they think no one can hear them."  
  
I looked to him again and watched as he pushed himself to his elbows and opened his eyes, looking directly at me with his piercing blue stare. "Which brings me, once again, to my reasons for being here. Everything will change by tomorrow night, but I have to settle my affairs before then. I—I need to finish things with Blaise or else I will never again know peace." He sighed again and let his head fall back.  
  
"Settle your affairs in what way? What do you want to do? What is it that's hurting you so much?"  
  
"The fact that I cannot seem to be free of her!" He lifted his head again and looked at me with so much misery in his eyes that I actually gasped. He pushed himself to his feet and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "And the way that I cannot do anything about it. I am living a fate that I am not satisfied with and I cannot fix it. I'm helpless."  
  
"You're not helpless," I cried, struggling to my feet as well and striding over to him. I dropped the blanket I was holding and glared right into his face, jabbing my finger into his chest as I spoke. "You keep thinking that you are, like you haven't got control of yourself or your actions, but you do. No one can make you do anything that you don't want to. You could fix things if you only had the strength and courage to do so."  
  
"Oh, really?" he hissed sarcastically, looking down at me. I held my stance.  
  
"Really," I said. His eyes narrowed but I did not back down. "All right then." In a flash his hand shot out and gripped my wrist, swinging me around with such force that I barely had time to think. He forced me over to the bed and threw me down on its covers, following after as I hit the mattress. He crawled over me, pinning my arms down as he did so. In all aspects, I should have been afraid or scared, but I was neither. I was only determined to figure him out and to help him with his problems so I could focus on mine. But as he leaned down towards me face and let his breath tickle my neck I shivered, and I once again realized how dangerously handsome he was. My voice quavered when I spoke.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Right now every part of my being wants you; wants to kiss you, wants to hold you...," His lips scarcely caressed my skin and the grip he had on my arms tightened. "You are possibly the woman any sensible man could desire: you are strong, intelligent, wise--," He looked down at me and slid one hand down to my waist. "Beautiful." And just when I feared him to lean down and close the space between us he pushed himself away from me, rising to his feet once more and staring down as I rose to a sitting position. "And yet I cannot bring myself to touch you anymore than I did so. Although I wanted it, I could not kiss you; why?" He started pacing and I watched him, silent. "Because I am bound to her! I am cursed to love her and to remain loyal to her no matter how much I want or need to break away from her." He growled in frustration and kicked the bed.  
  
"Christian...,"  
  
"I could have had you!" he cried, hitting the armchair as he passed it and causing it to fly across the room. "You could have been mine, Pansy. Malfoy had fouled up and I was left with the treasure that he so foolishly left behind! And yet I couldn't have you; I couldn't have you because, even though I wished to, I could not bring myself to care for you or to cherish you, or to love you like I should; someone else had that kind of attention from me. Someone who, once again, belonged to Malfoy. Damn Malfoy!" He punched the bed post. "How is it that that prat gets everything that's good in life? He had you and now he has Blaise...and I have nothing." He stopped pacing and just stood in the middle of my room, head bowed in defeat. It was a depressing sight, seeing someone who basked in the light of power and control suddenly look beaten. "I haven't even a heart to be broken."  
  
At that I jumped up from the bed and ran in front of him, anger coursing through me. He stared at me in confusion, surprised that I had not left him to wallow in his misery. "Okay Christian, I expected you to want pity for losing and loving Blaise and being lonely your entire life and having a screwed up childhood and what not, but I didn't expect you to ask for pity for something that you lied about."  
  
"And what, may I ask, have I lied about to you?" he cried, throwing up his hands in emphasis. "Everything I've said in this room has been the truth!"  
  
"Hardly so. You tell me that you don't have a heart...a heart, by the way, that cannot even be broken. But look, you've got one right there!" I pushed him hard in the chest and he staggered back a bit, outraged.  
  
"Please Pansy, don't act stupid because you're not."  
  
"Me? Stupid? I'm not the one who doesn't know where his bloody heart is! It's just where everyone else's is usually found, inside of them!"  
  
"Not mine!" he bellowed. "I gave mine away when I was twelve years old! I lost my heart to my cousin by using magic to take it out and stick it into a ring. I have no heart beneath my breast."  
  
I should have stopped; I should have pitied; or maybe I should have consented to his rage...but I did nothing of the sort. Instead, I did the one thing you should never do at a time such as this. I laughed. No, not a wimpy excuse for a giggle nor did I guffaw like some villainess idiot. I honestly started laughing, arms crossed over my chest and face lit with a smile. Christian glared at me in revulsion, unbelieving that I could be that insensitive.  
  
"Are you laughing?" he asked, disgusted.  
  
No, genius, I'm hatching a duck. "Yes, I'm laughing," I told him, and then went on with my joy. He let out a deep, exasperated breath.  
  
"Well, why the hell are you laughing? Does one's misery and despair somehow amuse you?" He backed up and sat down on the edge of my bed, staring up at me. I forced myself to calm down and don a straight face, if not for him then for my own sanity.  
  
"Christian," I began, slowly accepting my sobriety and sitting down next to him. "If you were in my position, and listened to everything I just heard you say, then I can almost promise you that you would be laughing as well."  
  
"You presume too much."  
  
"Christian--,"  
  
"You don't understand what it is like. You couldn't possibly understand the potency of magic, of any kind of magic. You think you know what it can do or how much power it can hold but you don't. Magic is a powerful thing, and it is not to be meddled with. I mean, look at me. Twice I have dabbled with this phenomenon and twice it has overpowered me and sent my life into a careening whirlwind of turmoil. You wouldn't understand something like that and I don't expect you too, but--,"  
  
I felt my arm rise up and I brought the back of my hand sharply across his face, feeling a few sinews in his jaw snap lightly. He was thrown off the bed and to the ground with my blow and I watched as a small trickle of blood fell from the edge of his lips. He touched his hand to the blood and looked up at me, bewildered as I stared down at him with more anger than I had felt in a long, long time.  
  
"What the hell..." he whispered, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. "Pansy...Pansy, that really hurt."  
  
"You disgusting idiot!" I screeched, jumping to my feet and completely forgetting the few seconds of joy I had had only moments ago. "You pathetic excuse for a human! Get up off the floor and face me like a man, or else sit there and whimper about your wounds like some bloody coward!"  
  
"What has gotten into you--,"  
  
"God, you can get on my nerves sometimes...do you know that?! Christian...Christian, you are no different from anyone else, all right? Do you understand me? Do you even hear me?! You are no different! Beneath that cowardly flesh beats a heart; a heart that pumps blood to your veins and emotions to your mind. It has not been taken away and jammed into a scrap piece of metal! It's still there, allowing you to live, breathe, and feel just like everyone else! And because it is there you have no excuse complaining about having a problem that you cannot fix." I knelt by his side, the look of hurt and truth evident on his face, and I mocked him without mercy. "'I gave my heart up when I was twelve', 'I'm bound to her because of the ring', 'help me, help me, I can't fix it myself'...well, bullshit! You're pitiful! You're foul! You're lowly! I can't even believe that you are the same Christian Machiavelli I met at Hogwarts, because that Christian wouldn't be so damn helpless!  
  
"Christian, where the hell do you think magic comes from, a rock?! It comes from you, idiot! From everything that you are. You are a wizard because you can control magic, not because magic can control you. Listen closely and listen carefully: It is just magic. Yes, it can be a powerful weapon or a potent adversary and yes, there are many times when it is hard to resist it, but we can because we are human. Human emotions and human strength can override any kind of magic; which is why I refuse to accept the fact that you find yourself enslaved to Blaise because of some cheap looking ring!"  
  
"I — well...," he stammered on his words, overwhelmed by my outburst. "Pansy...why else would I live a life of enslavement and loneliness, always trailing behind her like some feeble puppy dog?"  
  
I stared at him for a few moments, trying my hardest to figure how to better word my response, but when words seemed to fail me I decided to use the next best thing: action. So when I gabbed him by the collar and kissed him I cringed slightly at the thought of it being Christian's lips and not Draco's. I had kissed no other than the man I had loved—no, the man that I love--and it felt strange and dishonest of me to do so now. But it was the only way to prove my point to Christian, and I needed to prove that point if I was going to help the poor boy.  
  
I was leaning over him, my hand still gripping the front of his shirt and my other holding me up so I wouldn't suffocate him under my weight. He lay propped up on his elbows, and after he got over the shock of the kiss he began to return it to me with as much feeling as he could muster...which, but my correct predictions, wasn't a lot. It was the fact that, aside from our lips, he barely touched me. He continued to kiss me but as I moved my hand near his he drew away, and if I leaned in close to him he withdrew the slightest inch. Even as I gently brushed my fingers through his hair he moaned and shivered against my mouth as if I had hurt him. And as I broke away, both breathless and more than a little awkward, I was completely satisfied, because I had my proof.  
  
"Pansy...?" he whispered, opening his eyes and speaking with a husky voice. I just stared at him, kneeling on the cold ground.  
  
"You live the life that you do...because you choose to," I told him. "You are not bound to Blaise through a ring; you are bound to her through something else; something real."  
  
"But the ring is re--,"  
  
"Christian...do you love her?" I asked quietly. He didn't look me in the eyes.  
  
"Well, of course I do, but it's only because of the spell I--,"  
  
"Christian. I asked if you love her. Do you? And I will know if you are lying to me because I know how you truly feel...I'm just asking you to make sure you know as well."  
  
He narrowed his eyes at me, caught between the fact and fiction. "And how would you know?" he asked.  
  
I let out an annoyed breath and waved my hand around, as if his question was much too feeble for an answer. "How would I know? I know from using my eyes, my ears and my touch. The way you talk about her and say her name...the way you look at her or the mist that clouds your eyes when someone else mentions her...the way that you cannot even touch another girl without shame."  
  
"I kissed you."  
  
"Yes, but you treated me like a gorgon!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"When I tried to touch your hand you wouldn't let me."  
  
"That wasn't on purpose...I was losing my balan--,"  
  
"And when I leaned toward you, you backed away."  
  
"Just a coincidence of your min--,"  
  
"And when I touched your hair," I smiled at the childish way he tried to defend himself, "you groaned as if I had hurt you."  
  
He straightened up. "Now that's just ridiculous."  
  
"Do you love her, Christian? I'm asking you that question, not the ring. Do you love her?" He stared at me, but didn't say a word. "Do you love her?" I repeated, this time with much more strength. He glanced towards the ground and then back at me again. "Just say it."  
  
He hesitated at first, but he forced himself to answer. "Yes. Yes, I do. Despite of the ring and despite of the spell, I do. I...love her." And then he squeezed his eyes in revulsion, pushing me away from him. "But I shouldn't...I can't. She's my cousin! I—I can't...it's not--...it's horrible...,"  
  
I stood up and brushed the hair from my face, glad that I had at least got him to admit to his heart. "Well," I said, looking down at him. "No one ever said love was easy." I looked over to the tray of forgotten food and the dry clothes Chloe had brought in. "You really do need to change and eat something or else you will be ill and I will not attend to you. Go on, I will wait until you are finished." I turned back to the fire and sat myself in the armchair, facing it so that I had no view of my bed. I listened carefully for a protest or a grumble of dissatisfaction, but I only heard the soft bustle of cloth and the clink of silverware as Christian redressed and ate his dinner.  
  
While he tended to his needs I sat before the warm fire and closed my eyes, bringing about images that would bring at least some inkling of happiness. I thought about the manor and visiting the unicorns in the stables...I thought about a rose garden that I had sat in during sunsets over the summer, watching as the sky changed from flaming red and orange to an almost definite midnight blue...and I thought about Draco, and I how much I missed him. But I frowned whilst I thought of him, although the memory was a happy one. But it wasn't until then that I realized that I had not faced him since the moment in the courtyard, when I had turned away from him and did not look back. That had felt like years past, and it turned my heart to ice.  
  
"Thank you," Christian said, walking to my side but looking into the grate. I opened my eyes and turned to him. The color had returned to his face once more, and the black jumper and trousers he had donned seemed to warm him into a better state. I nodded in response, even if he did not see it, and watched as he moved closer to the fire and sat down on the ground, his legs folded in front and his face leaning towards the fire's warmth. I started to open my mouth to speak to him but quickly closed it once again. If he wanted to begin another conversation, he would be the first to speak.  
  
But he did not. I expected him to ask about Blaise again, and beg me to tell him what to do about his problem, because falling in love with your cousin is not something so easily fixed. And I also anticipated his emphasis on the Christmas ball and what was to come, for surely the results would effect everyone in the world before the night was over. But he said nothing, sitting still and silent and staring into the flames. And I decided not to break the spell, but instead allowed him, and myself, this one evening of silence and tranquility.  
  
So for the rest of that evening we sat thus, nothing more than two people trapped in a woven enchantment of quiet and flame. Both of us had temporarily plucked ourselves out of time and settled in this room to rest and relax for events soon to come. And as for the ball...well, we had silently decided to take everything as it would come. We would not anticipate it but deal with each dilemma as it crossed our path; Christian would deal with Blaise when he saw her, I would deal with Draco when I saw him, and we would deal with the Dark Lord when he would come.  
  
But as the night pressed on and the moon lifted higher and higher into the sky, a shiver traveled down my spine and left a cold chill to encase my heart. And a thought struck me...that as the fire in the grate began to slowly ebb away to nothing but smoldering embers, it would take with it everything that had come to pass in the last sixteen years of my life and plunge me head first into a toil of darkness. I rubbed my shoulders at the thought, afraid of what it could mean about the future. But as I glanced towards Christian to see if he had felt it I saw only a small, seventeen year old boy still encased in a standstill of time, and I quickly pushed the thought away into the night. 


	21. The Way of Yule

Chapter Twenty-one The Way of Yule  
  
Pansy  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"...Nothing..."  
  
"Christian...those are supposed to be for later."  
  
"..."  
  
"Christian, stop it! You'll get the chefs really angry."  
  
"..."  
  
"Christian!"  
  
"Alright, alright! I'm done!" He made an annoyed face towards me and quickly popped the rest of the hors d'o into his mouth. I rolled my eyes and pushed him out of the kitchen, passing bowing servants much too disciplined to kick us out themselves. I brought us through the deerskin hanging over the entrance and we found ourselves in the grand hall, now shining with all its radiance where house-elves were hurrying around and setting up tables, hanging the ceremonial draperies, and raising a dais in a large corner for the minstrels and bard. I glanced out the windows and saw my mother screaming to even more house-elves in the ledge garden, pointing to the blossoms and then enthusiastically to the sun and the sea.  
  
"Is everything okay out there?" Christian asked, following my gaze. I shrugged, still watching my mother.  
  
"Probably not. She's very picky about landscaping, and I think the exposure to the sun and salty breeze doesn't fit her description for a perfect garden." I shrugged and grabbed Christian's arm. "Come on, let's make ourselves useful and get out of here." I led him to the sweeping staircase and we began to climb it together. "By tonight, this staircase will be the most dreaded thing amongst the guests," I said, running one hand along the rail. Christian glanced sideways at me.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"After each guest is announced, they must descend the stairwell with their escort while all the eyes of the crowd watch them. The thought of complete humiliation is almost unbearable."  
  
He smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll catch you if you fall."  
  
It seemed that a good night's rest had done wonders for Christian's mood. He seemed strong-willed and in control once more, not the raving boy of torment that he had been the night before. Even when he was introduced to my mother in the morning he had surprised me with his cool calmness, accepting her invitation to stay as long as he would like and also receiving the place as my escort for the night.  
  
"It seems fitting, if you look at it," he had said as we watched my mother leave the parlor to prepare of the ball. "I, who will go as the young Arthur, shall escort the Lady Morgaine, the little girl who touched her finger to his temple and eased all his pain and suffering when none could."  
  
"They were close friends in spirit if not in speech." I said it as a statement. Christian had agreed.  
  
"She relieved him of his death wound before it had even come to him..." and then we had left the conversation at that for the sweet smell of food had come wafting to us from the kitchens.  
  
"Do you have everything ready for tonight?" I asked him as we walked into the entrance hall. He nodded.  
  
"I'm ready for everything." He glanced sideways to me. "Are you?"  
  
I did not answer right away. All the previous night, as I had finally rested my head to sleep but lay awake until dawn, I had thought of nothing else but of what would happen at the ball. I feared for the lives of everyone who would be caught in the war, certainly, but I feared for myself in more ways than one as well. How would the Dark Lord go about bringing the Second Holocaust? Would it be a mass killing of Muggles, as the first had been? And more over, where would I stand amidst the chaos? It was a silly question to think of, considering where my line and reputation had been leading all my life, but now I had second thoughts. If I were to be considered a future Death Eater, bound in loyalty to a powerful wizard and asked to steal, lie, and murder at his command, would I do it? Would I put that much loyalty and faith into one...one being?  
  
"Pansy?" Christian's light touch on my elbow brought me back to reality and I turned to him, attempting to smile.  
  
"Sorry. I was just lost in thought for a moment. Yes, yes, I am ready for everything."  
  
"Even for...Malfoy?"  
  
I swallowed hard. "I have not seen his face since that night, but yes, I will be ready." I shrugged at him. "It's only a schoolgirl crush after all, right?"  
  
He frowned at me, looking away from my eyes. "Don't say that about love. Don't ever put love onto the same level as that." I said nothing in reply.  
  
Draco  
  
I sat in the living room, laid down on the couch and stared into the ceiling. My mother's voice called to me from somewhere in the entrance hall.  
  
"Draco, are you all ready for tonight?" she asked. I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.  
  
"Yes, mother, I'm ready."  
  
"Good. The Portkey is set to leave at ten past seven, so be ready by seven."  
  
"It's only noon."  
  
"Be ready."  
  
"I already told you I was."  
  
"All right then."  
  
I sighed, covering my face with my hands. In all truth, I didn't want to go to Pellinore's castle, and I didn't want to celebrate Christmas, and I didn't want to attend the yuletide ball. In truth, all I really wanted was to sit at home, locked away in the fencing room with Leo and a sword and parrying death blow after blow after blow. It kept my body and mind busy, and I needed to stay busy.  
  
Sometime during this time my mother came into the room. She was leaning over the back of the sofa when I heard her and she was looking down at me with a frown. "What's wrong?" she asked. I shrugged.  
  
"Nothing." She didn't believe me, I could tell, but she said nothing to my statement.  
  
"Who are you escorting tonight?" she asked me, sitting down on the sofa's edge and watching my face as I tried hard to conceal my thoughts.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
She kept her eyes distant. "Aren't you going to escort Pansy?"  
  
I felt a cold lump in my throat but I swallowed it before I spoke. "Highly unlikely, at this point in time." I expected her to ask why, but she didn't.  
  
"Why don't you escort Blaise? She just sent an owl in asking if you would like to go with her." She paused, and I sensed a great deal of resentment in her presence. "She's quite fond of you, you know." She looked away. "Everyone seems to be so very fond of you," she added, quieter than before, but I heard it. I sat up, interested.  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked. Of course, she didn't answer my question.  
  
"So will you take her? It would be foolish of you to walk in alone; it would be embarrassing to the family."  
  
I scowled. "Then I won't be seen entering, if that is the case. I'll slip in without anyone seeing me. Problem solved and embarrassment averted."  
  
"Hardly solved," she said. "You will be announced, by your name and then your character's name, upon arriving, and you'll descend the staircase so everyone can see you." She glanced at me sharply. "If you don't descend the stair, you'll shame your family. So are you going to take Blaise or not?"  
  
"Fine," I snapped, lying back down on the sofa. "Send an owl to tell her I will. Happy?" I watched as she looked to the door and snapped her fingers, probably sending a house-elf to send the owl. I rolled my eyes. "Why are you so keen on me anyways?" I questioned, hoping to turn the direction of the conversation away from me and onto her.  
  
"I'm your mother and I'm worried about what will happen...to you...tonight." She started off quickly but slowed near the end of her sentence, avoiding my gaze as best she could. I narrowed my eyes at her.  
  
"Why would you be worried?" I asked slowly. "It's just a ball."  
  
"Why aren't you going with Pansy?" she said quickly, turning on me with gleaming eyes. "You two have been inseparable since the summer; what happened?"  
  
A pounding began in the back of my head and I hated the way she was looking at me with such contempt. I decided to end the conversation then and there.  
  
"Will father not be attending, or will his absence shame our family as well?"  
  
I watched as the color drained from her face and she quickly jumped to her feet, staring hard at me. I had struck her where it hurt the most, and she knew that I had done so on purpose.  
  
"We leave no later then ten past," she snapped, walking out of the room stiffly. "Don't forget your wand." And then she was gone.  
  
Pansy  
  
I sat atop my tower once more, sitting on the parapet and leaning into the sea wind, a heavy winter cloak draped about my shoulders. I breathed in deeply once, twice, three times, and still I felt nervous about the ball. It was less then three hours away.  
  
"You'll catch your death up here," someone said behind me. "Either that or you'll fall to it."  
  
I sighed. "Death cannot come here, Christian; it is much too grand a view." He came up beside me and looked out into the sea, a heavy cloak draped about his shoulders as well.  
  
"That I cannot deny," he said. He looked down to me. "What are you afraid of, Pansy?" he asked. I looked up at him, confused.  
  
"What do you mean? What am I afraid of about the ball?"  
  
He shook his dark head. "No. I mean, what do you fear, of all things? What is it that blackens your heart most of all?"  
  
I slid from the parapet and onto the solid, stone flooring, my back turned to the sea. Christian sat down next to me, and we huddled together to keep warm against the winter chill. "What do I fear?" I repeated. Somewhere in the back of my mind words written on a scroll appeared, and then a cold, merciless voice spoke beneath them, and I shivered at the combined fates of the two. "I fear myself," I said, "and what I have done."  
  
Christian nodded. "Then we are alike in another way, Pansy, for I fear myself and the things I have done also." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "I don't think I'll ever be proud of myself."  
  
"What are you going to do about Blaise?" I asked, picking up on dangerous ground. But he did not take it as hurtful as I expected, but answered me calmly and rationally.  
  
"I honestly do not know," he told me, leaning his head back against the stone. "I want to tell her...but it would be easier on both of us if I didn't. You forget that she does not love me in such a way. But to not tell her would be to add another weight to the burden on my shoulders, and I do not know how long I can hold such a yoke." He looked down at me. "And you? What will happen with Draco?"  
  
I looked up at the sky and watched as a few, silent snowflakes began to fall, each one making its glittering dance down from the clouds. I thought of Draco and of his embrace and I almost choked on the longing in my throat.  
  
"Like I said before, it all comes down to seeing him again." I brushed a snowflake from my shoulder. "When I see him, I will know."  
  
Draco  
  
I stood in the rose garden, sitting amid the bare bushes and the frozen pond. The marquee was glazed with a fine layer of ice and held within itself a brittle air of musty cold, but I stood under its canopy anyways, watching the sun and its steady reign across the sky.  
  
Six o'clock. I'd see her within the second hour.  
  
In haste to escape the blooming dread within my stomach, I reached an arm upward to catch the frozen rooftop and pulled myself up so that I was hunched on the rail. I stood on its thin frame, testing its weight, and then hoisted myself onto the roofing, swinging my legs over and ignoring the burning ice against my skin. I stood up carefully and turned back to the horizon, seeing the moor with greater splendor than before. I reached into my pocket and felt the scroll sitting there. I was much too afraid to take it out, but I was even more scared to let it out of my reach.  
  
"Master Malfoy?" One of the house-elves had crept, shivering, into the garden. I did not look down to him as he came out in front of the marquee, looking up at me with fearful, lamp-like eyes. "Sir, your mother insists that you come inside at once. It is much too cold, sir, to be out here and she would like for you to--,"  
  
"Sod off," I grumbled. The house-elf quickly silenced itself and scurried away, back into the safety of the manor. I lifted my chin and breathed in the cold air, my hands warm in the pockets of my trousers. I looked down to my feet and kicked some ice off the roofing, the need to stay away from the ball growing larger and larger in my chest.  
  
Pansy  
  
I sat in my room, looking outside at the setting sun casting its haunted colors across the water. I looked down at my watch. Half past six.  
  
"Come, miss, we need to get you ready for the ball!" Chloe was rushing about my room, frantic as ever, shaking out my white gown and preparing everything that I would need for the ball. "Lady, we've got to get you ready now! We've wasted too much time as it is!"  
  
"Okay," I said, but I did not move from my spot.  
  
From the window I heard a door open down below. There was some frightened squeaking, a deep, echoing voice mumbling something, and then the door opening and closing once again. I got up from my place on the bed and walked over to the window. I stood on my toes so I could lean out the window. Directly south of my room was the garden ledge, every rose, lily, rosemary, lavender, daisy, gardenia, and even oleander made to perfection. The imported apple and cherry blossom trees glowed with flawless radiance, and the fairies sent to house in the greenery twinkled even now in the twilight. But one feature, a hooded figure standing near the parapet, was not meant to be there. He stood erect, with his hands behind his back and his feet set wide apart. I whistled and his dark hood turned up to me.  
  
"All set?" I called. The hood fell back and Christian smiled up at me.  
  
"As much as I'll ever be." He spread his arms wide, revealing his costume with a flourish. It was simple enough, but it was highly period based, with the grey tunic and grey leggings. His boots were a dark dragon hide and his blood red cape was clasped over his right shoulder, the beaten silver Pendragon emblem winking at me. His belt was simple enough, but the dagger sheathed in his side glittered with power, the hilt mimicking that of the sword Excalibur. I nodded in approval.  
  
"You've done your research," I called out. He nodded in response. "Do you have your wand?" I asked. He threw aside his cape and revealed a hidden pocket in its lining, a thin bulge indicating the concealed wand.  
  
"Are you ready?" he asked, one hand on the hilt of his dagger. As if in response, Chloe's voice came echoing out from behind me.  
  
"Lady, I do not mean to be disrespectful, but please! We need to get you dressed and presentable for the guests!" I smiled down at Christian and noted the amused glint in his eyes.  
  
"And that's my cue," I said. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."  
  
"Twenty-five!"  
  
I flinched at Chloe's shriek as Christian laughed from below.  
  
"Make that twenty-five." He nodded to me.  
  
"All right then."  
  
I sighed and pulled myself back into the room.  
  
Draco  
  
I sat on the stairwell, waiting for my mother to come down the stairs. It was a minute to seven.  
  
My idle hand found its way to the hilt of my sword, the scabbard encasing it resting against my leg on the stair. My other hand immediately went to my trouser pocket, where I kept my wand hidden beneath my cloak. I did not like the sound of so many armed wizards and witches in one room, but I would be loathed to leave my own behind. I felt naked without it, even with the shining blade belted beside me.  
  
A gold shine was playing on the floor before me and I moved my wrist from side to side, causing the shine to dance at my feet. The little snowflake twinkled merrily in the candlelight, but I tucked it away under my sleeve.  
  
I had put it on my wrist as I was getting dressed, having had it fall out of my trouser pocket when I was digging through my trunk for my wand. It had sat on the floor, staring at me for ages before I decided to pick it up and latch it onto my wrist. Whether we would even speak to each other at the ball or if I never would know her embrace again, I had to give Pansy the bracelet; if not out of love then out of respect. It was hers after all.  
  
I checked my watch. Six seconds before the ball began. Five...four...three...two...  
  
The Christmas Ball begins...  
  
Pansy  
  
I was in my mother's room, alone, sitting by her window and watching the guests come into the courtyard in elaborate carriages, each one exceeding the grandness of their arrival by stepping out from the carriages. There was Irish, dressed in stunning robes of darkest purple, her hair pinned back with the veil of a high priestess draped over her head. Holding her hand as she stepped out from her carriage was Rhiannon, his face solemn and set as usual. And as Irish was dressed as the Lady Niniane, Kino was appropriately dressed as her husband, King Pelleas of Wales.  
  
He led her up the stairs and towards the door, her arm looped through his in the courtly fashion. He seemed to be stiff and monotonous, leading her to the front doors in such a formal matter, but when he caught sight of Irish staring at him and smiling he couldn't help the blush that crept up onto his somber features.  
  
I grinned. I still couldn't believe that Irish and Kino were together, but in reality, it made a lot of sense. Irish was a girl of multiple personalities, never allowing one to mingle with the other. When she was in school, it was strictly business, nothing more; no time for play and no time for fun. She was strict and controlling, and she had the professors' ability of commanding silence by simply walking into the room. But once school was over she would switch over and become as fun-loving and calm as the next girl, always cheerful and sweet-tempered. With personas such as those, it would take a very, very patient man to stand beside her, and Kino Rhiannon was patient as anyone could get.  
  
But the nay of a horse stole my attention from the two and onto the large carriage pulling up behind theirs. I recognized the enamel B on the side of the door, so I wasn't surprised when Mrs. Gertrude Bulstrode stepped out, looking as imposing as ever. She had come with a crown upon her head and the badge of the Wolf of Gwynedd pinned to her cloak. I racked my head for her character and came up with Queen Anet of Wales, sister-in-law to Elaine, the cousin of Guinevere. I didn't expect Mr. Bryce Bulstrode to be present, seeing as he was still locked away in Azkaban, so I waited for Millie to come out behind her mother. She didn't. I caught myself in a gasp as the footman closed the carriage door and the driver rode away, leaving Mrs. Bulstrode to walk to the front doors alone.  
  
I turned away from the window, baffled. Why hadn't Millie come? If she wasn't there, I'd be helpless. I needed her more than ever at this ball, or else I'd stay locked away in my mother's room the entire night. But she said she was going! She couldn't have lied to me. Millie wouldn't lie to me.  
  
Then I heard the tottering sounds of horse hooves and the definite rhythm of a gallop and I looked out the window once more. Someone was coming up to the courtyard, riding through the gates on a grey mare with a white star on her forehead. The someone stood erect and proud, their back straight and their strong hands holding tightly to the reins. I could not see their face for the fur cloak they wore had its hood drawn.  
  
The mysterious rider galloped to the front steps and reared the mare, bringing her to a gallant stop right before the footman. Many of the servants and guests who were still heading towards the front doors stopped and stared. But the rider did not seem to notice, having decided to sit proudly upon her mount and remain silent. I watched as the footman approached the horse and looked up tentatively into the darkened face. I found that I was leaning out of the window, straining to hear the words that would be spoken. I hadn't any need to lean so far, however, as the courtyard had fallen extremely silent.  
  
"Excuse me...er...um...sir--,"  
  
"Madam," the hood said, their voice deep and unidentifiable, rumbling through the stone as it spoke. The footman flinched, but coughed into his hand to cover it.  
  
"Yes, madam. Well, I would...er...like to welcome you to the Pellinore's castle and to the Parkinson Christmas Ball." He bowed low, speaking words that were routine to him now. The rider did not acknowledge him in any way, even ignoring the hand he offered up to her. "Shall I help the lady from her mare?" he asked, smiling respectably up at her. But seeing the stature of the rider and the solemnity of her poise, I knew she would not accept his hand. So it came as no surprise to me when she simply swung her leg over the back of her horse and jumped down from the mount, landing next to the bewildered footman. Many of the other guests gasped, but I smiled. I had suddenly become aware of who the mysterious guest was, and I knew she could shake up a formal crowd like no other could.  
  
But I felt slightly sorry for the footman when she straightened to her full height, towering over him by at least a foot. The man whimpered slightly and bowed, backing away from her as quickly as possible. The hooded face watched him go, and it left me time to look her over. And let me tell you, whatever it was she was wearing, only Millie knew how to pull it off so well.  
  
She was donned in fur and leather, as far as I could tell, but her robes were more elegant and festive rather than primitive and barbaric. If you looked carefully enough you could tell that she wore a gown under her cloak, and they complimented the strength of her figure while still remaining feminine. There was a definite air of rebellion encasing her, vibrating from everything from her elaborate hood to the leather boots strapped to her feet. Then one, well-shaped hand reached up and drew back the hood, allowing the guests to stare at Millie in awe and wonder, for she looked nothing less than stunning.  
  
Her hair, usually left down in a casual sheet of mousy, brown hair, was pulled away from her face in a silky array, covered with a net studded with river pearls. Her jewelry was ancient and sacred, beaten from iron but designed for respect. And her face.... I had known that Millicent was never ugly, because she never had been and never will be. But others who did not know her thought of her to be hideous and troll like, hardly comparable to any ordinary girl. But now, from one look at her ambitious face, everyone present tonight would also know the beauty of Millicent Bulstrode.  
  
It wasn't a mask of cosmetics that made her beautiful, nor the bareness of her face. It was the balance between being festive and subtle, without losing the entire effect. She had donned the tribal markings to tell her of heritage and her eyes were gilded with a serene blue, signifying the Woad descent. The array brought out valor that was her shield and the ambition that was her blade. She was not only beautiful but powerful as well.  
  
"She bows to no one," I whispered.  
  
"Well," she said, looking around at the staring faces. No one moved, not even breathed. We were captivated by her presence and entranced by her confidence. Millie, however, had not changed along with her appearance, but stared back at everyone with the mingled emotions of boredom and annoyance. "All right then; we could just stand out here like idiots, freezing in the cold, or we could all continue our ways up to the castle," she announced, looking around at everyone. Her sarcasm was enough to break the spell amid the guests and the arrivals preceded as usual, the frozen courtiers heading towards the front doors once again.  
  
"Excuse me." I blinked as a tiny little witch who I did not know came up to Millie. She was less than half her height, stooped with age though still young in spirit. She leaned heavily on a cane and was smiling up at Millie with great approval. "Strong girl, may I please ask who you have come as to this ball?"  
  
Surprised by such kindness, I watched as Millie struggled with her response, looking down at the woman as if she were afraid that she'd squash her.  
  
"Oh—er...I didn't want to go as anyone traditional, because I figured there were enough people for that. So I've come as a chieftess of one of the Woad tribes, the natives of Britain." Millie grinned then. "I would have painted myself blue, but I didn't want to frighten anyone." The old woman laughed and patted her on the arm, walking away with a smile on her face.  
  
"You are handsome and wise," she said, "and I admire you." I smiled at the touched look on Millie's face.  
  
I felt a tap on my shoulder.  
  
"Are you nervous?" Christian asked, leaning over my head to look out the window at the arrivals. I shook my head.  
  
"Not anymore," I said. He moved to my side to get a better look at the guests, and I laughed at the surprised look on his face.  
  
"Is that...Bulstrode?" he asked, leaning out the window. I nodded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
He let out a sigh, shaking his head and grinning. "Who is she supposed to be?"  
  
"A Woad chieftess." I stood up and leaned on the sill. "She came riding in on a mare, you know." He looked sharply at me.  
  
"No carriage?" I didn't say anything. "Hmm...brave girl, that Millicent Bulstrode." He withdrew farther into the room and walked to the door, closing it where he had left it open upon entering.  
  
"What are you doing up here anyway? Is it time for me to descend?" I asked, looking back at him. He shook his head.  
  
"No. Not for another fifteen minutes, at the earliest. Guests are still arriving. I just didn't want to be down there." He moved to the bed and collapsed upon it. "You know I don't like crowds. And I especially dislike crowds consisting of armed Dark Wizards in frilly robes."  
  
I smiled even though I knew he was serious.  
  
"Did you see Kino and Irish? They were dressed as King Pelleas and the Lady Niniane."  
  
"Yes," he said. "I saw them. Quite a stern look, that Rhiannon character has on him. He didn't seem too enthusiastic about things." He was lying on the bed with his dagger in hand, fiddling with it like some sinister child's plaything.  
  
"He always looks like that," I said. "He's in Ravenclaw. Who else is down there?"  
  
"A whole lot of people I don't know. Someone came in as Isuelte of the White Hands. She must have been veela born, to be so white. She's nothing like her persona, however; she didn't seem to want to shut up."  
  
I rubbed the back of my neck, for it was stiff from craning my head out the window. "I think I know her. Her family is from Hungary, I think. Anyone else?"  
  
"We have a wavy-haired Tristan, a sad-looking Bedwyr, one rather mournful looking Dinadan, and about three different Guineveres." I shot him a peculiar look and returned it with a shake of his head. "One is dressed as the warrior, the other as the queen, and the third as the disgraceful harlot."  
  
"Christian!"  
  
He shrugged. "Hey, she said it, not me. If you haven't noticed, not most dark wizards appeal to Guinevere as they would to Morgan le Fey."  
  
"But they respect Arthur. Him and Guinevere lived for the same purposes and the same beliefs."  
  
He nodded. "Yes, this is true. But that is King Arthur; no respectable Briton should ever doubt him. Guinevere seems just a little too close to the light for some of us." He lifted his head and looked over at me, one eyebrow raised suggestively. "Shouldn't you finish getting ready soon? They'll be calling you down any minute now."  
  
I frowned at him, crossing my arms. "What are you talking about?" I snapped, tossing my head to the side. "I am ready."  
  
He sat up, surprised, but I didn't appreciate it at all. "Truly you are?" he asked. I shrugged indignantly, rolling my eyes. "Well, stand up then, so I can see!" I didn't move. "Pansy, come now."  
  
"What do you mean 'Pansy, come now'? I don't have to parade around for you." He just stared at me, and I couldn't help but sigh and stand up.  
  
I was wearing the gown Madame Tsion had made for me, though I was afraid to use it for fear of ruining it in some way. The white thong was around my neck and the clear jewel hung upon my collarbone, a cold surface against my neck. Other than that I wore no other jewelry, and I had only allowed Chloe to pin the sides of my hair back with the river pearls so it wouldn't obscure my vision; the rest hung down my back in a sheet of darkness, reaching far enough to fall past my shoulder blades. Otherwise, I was as normal as every other day.  
  
"I didn't want Chloe to plaster my face with cosmetics," I said quickly, watching his gazing eyes and his blank expression. "I don't like it. And we were running out of time, so I just kept most of my hair down. And I don't really own anything that could compare with this necklace, so I decided to just let it be--,"  
  
"You look wonderful," he said, cocking his head to one side. "You really do."  
  
I scowled at him. "Shut up. I know I don't contrast to anyone downstairs like that veela girl, so I decided not to even try." I turned away, picking up a throw on the back of my chair and wrapping it around my exposed shoulders. "It's supposed to be my ball anyways."  
  
"But I mean it; you really do look wonderful."  
  
I walked back to the window, catching sight of Darius Nott arriving with some Spanish-looking girl on his arm. "I won't even compare to Blaise," I muttered.  
  
There was a pause. "Do you really care?" he asked.  
  
"No."  
  
Another carriage pulled up bearing Vincent Crabbe and his mother, closely followed by Gregory Goyle and his mother. It came as no surprise to me that they had dressed as the infamous twins: the knights Sir Agravaine and Sir Gaheris. Both their mothers came dressed as Welsh queens, but who they were specifically was lost to me.  
  
"She's coming as The Witch of Lothian, you know; Queen Morgause." I turned my back on the window and leaned against it. Christian was sitting on the bed staring at his reflection in the vanity mirror.  
  
"Is she?" I nodded.  
  
"She told me so back at school."  
  
He smiled acrimoniously. "Well that fits, doesn't it? Her, Morgause...and me, Arthur."  
  
I sighed, coming to his side. "Don't do that. You didn't know she was going as the Lothian queen. It was unintentional."  
  
"Was it?" he asked his reflection, ignoring me as I leaned against the bedpost. "Or maybe history really does like to repeat itself. Or maybe British families just like their own blood..."  
  
I heard a sudden hush waft in from the courtyard and held a hand out to Christian, silencing him. The stillness was soon followed by a humming of whispers, and then rose into excited voices, each one more restless than the last.  
  
"What's going on out there?" I whispered. I checked the clock on my mother's bedside table. Seven twelve.  
  
"Is it really them?"  
  
"No one comes as elaborate as they do."  
  
"Do you think Lu--,"  
  
"Look at those creatures! What do you supposed they are?"  
  
"They're Granian winged horses! The fastest flying horses there are!"  
  
"Who is that riding in the carriage with them?"  
  
"Someone highborn, if you ask me. Only the best for the Malfoys."  
  
My head snapped to attention at the sound of their name, staring out the window in a mixture of alarm and anticipation. From where I stood I could only see the gray sky, but I felt as if I were looking at him at that very moment...seeing his eyes, his hair, his hands...  
  
"Look," Christian said. I had not noticed him get up and walk over to the window. He was looking down into the courtyard with interest, hands still fiddling with his dagger. "Malfoy's here," he said, although the announcement had come too late. "Narcissa looks grand, as always," he noted. But then his eyes widened, and there was a definite struggle in his throat when next he spoke. "And Draco...with...Blaise next to him."  
  
I tightened my hold on the throw, rooted to my spot. "How does she look?" I offered. I listened as he was caught breathless, his hand still and his chest rising and falling rapidly.  
  
"Like...like my minx. Like my little red plague." A great sadness seemed to envelope the entire room then and I backed away from the window after taking one look from Christian's face. In the moment that he was having, most people would like to be left alone. Not many enjoy a foreigner's company when they are falling in love; and even less welcome outsiders when they are falling in love all over again.  
  
Draco  
  
I heard the whispers before we had even ridden into the gate, the public's voices failing miserably at being inconspicuous. I sighed and leaned my head back against the chair, my patience waning. Not to mention that I was suffering greatly sitting between my silently stiff mother and an uncomfortably quiet Blaise.  
  
My mother, dressed as Viviane herself, was strangely quiet during the very short carriage ride. We had taken the Portkey to the outskirts of the castle and then stepped into the majestic carriage waiting for us there to make our grand entrance into the courtyard. Blaise had been waiting for us, but she had hardly said a word. She simple smiled sweetly at me and climbed, uttering not a peep the entire time. I, on the other hand, was occupied by the creature pulling the thing. What the hell was up with the flying horses? We were traveling a maximum of a quarter of a mile. I sighed. I guess because the Granian horses were elaborate and expensive. Damn wealth and its stupidity.  
  
And as we rolled up to the front steps I despised the gaudiness of our approach even more. Could everyone be louder, please? I'm not sure they heard them all the way in Portugal!  
  
"They're Granian winged horses! The fastest flying horses there are!"  
  
"Who is that riding in the carriage with them?"  
  
"Someone highborn, if you ask me. Only the best for the Malfoys."  
  
I closed my eyes and jammed my hand into my pockets, fighting the urge to hit someone. Morons are so annoying.  
  
Then the door opened and I held my breath, fearing the moment when I would step out of the sanctuary of the carriage and into the throng of the Christmas ball. I held my breath and I felt my palms begin to sweat. Somewhere, deep inside, I had the sudden urge to do something incredibly stupid, therefore banning me from the ball and shaming me in my mother's eyes so she would send me home. It was an idiotic fantasy, I must admit, but the mind plays tricks when its panicking ninety kilometers an hour.  
  
Blaise had then placed her hand lightly on my arm and I looked over at her, surprised. She smiled kindly at me. "Don't worry; it'll be perfect," she said. "I'm right here next to you."  
  
I stared at her, slightly confused. Did she know that her comment wasn't exactly reassuring?  
  
"Yeah...," I shrugged, and stepped out of the carriage behind my mother. I was instantly thrown back hundreds of years before, in the time of magic, majesty, and the time of Arthur himself. The castle, the courtiers, the magnetism of the entire event, bombarded me with a force that could have knocked me off my feet. I suddenly realized that this was no ball, but a festive celebration in the royal court of King Pellinore, one of the greatest Welsh kings of the time. Every face I looked to had transformed from modern day tedium to legendary rareness. It was even more unnerving than I thought.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
I looked back sharply and saw Blaise waiting behind me for me to offer her my hand and guide her out. "Oh, right," I grumbled, taking hold of her and helping her from the carriage. Once her feet touched the ground the carriage door closed and the Granian horses took the skies, darting up with tremendous speed. There were some idiotic 'oohs' and 'awes' and then the crowd turned their attention back to us once more...or, more specifically first to Blaise, then to my mother, and then finally, to me. But, then again, I could not argue with the alignment.  
  
Blaise had out done herself...again. But not in the way that you would think. Yes, she had gone all out on the 'queen' ensemble, settling for nothing less than the acid green gowns Morgause had worn in her own days. And yes, her brow had been adorned with original crown of Lothian and Orkney, beaten from gold and encrusted with symbols. But that was where the normality of Blaise Zabini ended and a new, more, (were I to be kind), conserved Blaise began. Her hair, usually let down about her back in an enchanting array of red-gold, had been done up in a respectful fashion, framing her face in an almost modest respect. The festivities of her face had remained traditional as well, with eyes like the tiger-lily and lips like the rose. She wore no necklace or rings, bangles or bracelets; she wore only golden earrings from Orkney, just as Morgause had done in her day. In all likelihood, she had come as the Avalon-born queen reincarnate.  
  
And I wasn't going to deny my own mother's beauty, because that would just be ridiculous. She was a stately woman, whom I had known was admired greatly in our circle. She was donned in iridescent violet, with the silver adornments of first Lady of the Lake. She had even painted the blue crescent moon on her brow. But apart from her apparel, my mother had just as much charisma as my father, and she used it similarly like he used his. She could command silence, control respect, demand cooperation; she walked, talked, and stood exactly as he did, and she knew it and used it to her advantage. Even now, as she preceded us up the stairway and to the front doors, many bowed and moved out of her way. My mother was still an intimidating and honorable woman, with or without my father present. I admired her for that.  
  
"Come, Draco," Blaise was tugging on my hand, trying to get me to move along. I obeyed her and accompanied her up to the front doors, ignoring the glances of approval from the boys and the excited whispers from the girls as we walked arm in arm.  
  
"Well, Draco...and if it isn't our favorite, little redhead." I looked up from the ground and found that I was standing in the foyer of the castle, looking up into the face of a very pretty girl. It took me a few moments to realize that it was Bulstrode standing in front of me, and the comprehension did little less than shock me.  
  
"Millicent?" I asked, sounding idiotic as well as surprised. She just tilted her head at me and grinned.  
  
"Has it really been so long that you do not recognize me anymore?" she responded, oblivious to her transformation. Her eyes tore away from mine and flicked over to Blaise's, who seemed to be just as surprised as I was. "Nice presentation, Red," she commented, shrugging out of the great fur cloak she had on. Her robes beneath were exquisite, with a fur-line overcoat and her stunning black gown underneath. I gaped at Millicent in my stupidity, not even realizing that not much had changed about her at all. She, however, remained ignorant of her effect on the others around her.  
  
"Th-thank you, Millicent," Blaise stammered, inclining her head to her as she said so. "You look—er—stunning...!" Millie cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing in reply to the intended compliment.  
  
"Attention all courtiers!"  
  
The three of us broke away from our rather meager conversation and turned over to the announcer, a rather comely looking woman standing on the grand stairway in the middle of the entrance hall, her solemn wardrobe bringing a humble atmosphere to the castle.  
  
"On behalf of Madame Zhyerra Parkinson and her daughter, Pansy Morgaine le Fehy Viviane Parkinson, I would like to welcome you to this year's Christmas ball." At first there was a scattered bit of feeble clapping, but then many others joined in to liven it up and soon the entire entrance hall was alive with genuine applause. Up on the stairway I could see the woman smile in approval and bow graciously to the crowd. She straightened up and opened her mouth to continue with her speech, but someone knocked my elbow and whispered furiously from behind me.  
  
"I need a word with you, Malfoy," Millicent said, her voice coming from half a foot above me. I turned around and saw her scanning the throng in a serene matter, making sure no one noticed her lack of attentiveness.  
  
"Why?" I asked, turning around to look at her. She didn't look at me, but lifted her ceremonial circlet to her head and lowered the veil over her face, shielding herself from the rest of the guests. Her faceless head turned left to right, and then settled to the left and jerked her head in the direction. I followed her action and saw the hallway leading out from the foyer. I nodded. "All right, but let's make this quick." I made to lead the way but Blaise caught my arm in a death grip.  
  
"Where are you going?" she hissed into my ear, glaring up at Millicent with the look of hatred in her painted eyes. Millicent's strong hand shot out and pushed Blaise away, almost knocking the girl to her rear.  
  
"Don't worry, Red, your escort will be back in time. I've got bigger problems I need to discuss with him." And then she turned on her heel and strode through the crowd, parting the guests as if they were no more tangible than water. I followed her into the hallway and we walked away from the entrance a few paces before she stopped and turned to me, standing next to a flaming torch. She pulled off her veil and sighed, and I was once again caught by her handsomeness.  
  
"Not a bad show tonight, by the way," I said, leaning my back against the stone wall. "You clean up pretty well when the occasion's fancy enough." The gaze she gave me was cold as stone.  
  
"Thank you," she said through pursed lips. "But I only clean up this good when I know that this may just be the last night I'll be alive."  
  
My head snapped into attention then and I stared at Bulstrode in suspicion. "Why did we come out here?"  
  
She wiped her brow with her sleeve, breathing deeply. "I called you out here for two reasons," she started. She tucked a loose tendril behind her ear and let her hand fall to her side. "One, I want to warn you about tonight's ball. Never let your wand out of sight and do not go anywhere alone, okay? Don't lose your wand and do not wander off alone; do you have that?"  
  
"What's going to happen?"  
  
She shrugged, annoyed. "Hell if I know for certain, but I know that something gargantuan is going to happen tonight...I just don't know what and when." She started to pace the area. "I've had this strange feeling about the ball since the day I received my invitation, and my feelings have never failed me before." She glanced over to me. "Watch yourself tonight, alright?"  
  
I nodded. "So what's the second thing about?" I asked.  
  
"Pansy." Damn her and her nonchalant bluntness. "I want to know what you are going to do about her."  
  
"Nothing," I said, looking her straight in the eye. "I can't do anything about her. I'm the one that messed up, remember? Besides, I came here as escort to Blaise." I turned my head away. "And she probably has someone else escorting her as well." I heard Millicent's footsteps cease.  
  
"Oh my god...you can't be that stupid, can you?" I didn't say anything in return. My silence seemed to anger her, though, and I soon found myself tangled in the irritation that made Millicent, well...Millicent. "All right then, if that's how you want to go about things, then fine. I've dabbled enough in the both of your problems." She walked over to me and bent over my face, calling my eyes to stare in her heated brown ones. "But if you wish to proceed with this idiotic plan of yours, I highly suggest that you don't lay an eye on Pansy either; not a look nor a glance."  
  
I shrugged off her warning even though it sent a rage burning through me. I may have made the mistake, but that didn't mean I wasn't in love with her...and I could look at her any time that I was allowed. She could not deny me that simple relief. "You caution and I will decide later if I obey," I answered.  
  
"No," she said. "No. You take heed to my advice, Malfoy. If you want to be as ignorant as you've always been and refuse to settle things with Pan then okay, I can respect — no...no, I can accept that. But in order for you to do so you cannot set eyes on her."  
  
"Why the hell not?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because what?"  
  
"Just because."  
  
"Bloody hell, not this stupid charade again!" I pushed myself from the wall and confronted Millicent with so much seriousness that I probably would have burst out laughing, had I not wanted an answer so badly. "Tell me the truth or leave me alone. Two choices, make your decision, and let us be on our way. The announcements would have started."  
  
She glared down at me but no longer persisted with her stubbornness. "In all honesty Malfoy, I don't know why. These two things that I have told are only half truths, I know, but they are truth nonetheless. If I could tell you more about it then you know I would. But as far as I can fathom, if you want to be secluded from Pansy, do not look at her, and if you want to stay alive to see tomorrow, then don't go anywhere without your wand and...and...and Blaise, if she's your damn escort." She leaned away from me and sighed heavily. "Please say you'll listen," she added. I waited a moment, and then nodded, knowing that the best thing to do was simply bow to her wishes and obey.  
  
"Okay." I turned to profile and stared back down the hallway, where beyond I heard the distant chatter of voices from the excited crowd of guests. "Okay."  
  
Beside me Millicent nodded in thanks and approval and returned the circlet to her head, concealing her face with the veil once again. "All right, let's go join the flow again." She straightened her gown and held herself at her full height, pulling around a shroud of authority, royalty, and beauty about herself. "I didn't get this fixed up for shit." I glanced over to her and could have sworn I felt a grin spread across her face. "I have some long awaited flaunting I need to catch up."  
  
I followed her down the hall smiling to myself.  
  
Pansy  
  
I waited on the second landing before the grand staircase, pressed against the wall of the corner. I was staring at the floor, a black, formal cloak encasing me, its hood drawn over my face and its vastness engulfing the white of my gown. Next to me stood Christian, leaning against the wall with his hands behind his back and across from me stood my mother, staring at me with hard eyes...not cold...hard.  
  
"I didn't want to believe that you were going to wear white," she said. I didn't look up at her. "I thought Chloe had made a mistake when she set it out. I thought you had gotten a dress from Madame Tsion."  
  
"I did, mother."  
  
I didn't see, but I knew her delicate brow was furrowed in disapproval. "You couldn't have. Madame Tsion knows the color restrictions; she would have never put you in white. It goes against code. It goes against the requirements. No one else will be dressed in white."  
  
"I am aware, mother." My hand tugged at the too long black sleeves of the cloak, cursing them into oblivion and yet praising them for concealing thee brightness of my gown. My mother had been outraged by the gown and had forced the cloak upon me, probably hoping I'd keep it on all night. But I wasn't going to do such a thing to myself or Madame Tsion. I would wear the cloak and hood upon descending, but I would discard of it when I was seated for the announcements. By then, it would be too late for anyone to second guess my wardrobe, and I would be able to wear the gown with pride and defiance like I had planned.  
  
"I would prefer you in black," she said, crossing her arms. "It would have complimented your hair and eyes."  
  
"Not actually," Christian whispered, as my mother turned away from me to listen to the commotion downstairs. "It would have made such features disappear." I drew the hood over my head, shrouding my face into darkness.  
  
"Shut up," I told him again. He didn't look at me, but he smiled. After seeing Blaise out the window he had been acting lighter somehow, more at ease. It was either a good sign or a very, very bad one.  
  
"Listen." My mother had her head tilted towards the stairway and the both of us hushed ourselves to listen to Chloe's announcement.  
  
"And now, without further ado, I present to you the Lady Zhyerra Parkinson as the High Queen Igraine, her daughter, heiress Pansy Parkinson as the Avalon successor Morgaine, and her escort, Christian Machiavelli as the young Arthur of Sir Ector's court."  
  
My mother glanced back at me. "Wait a while and then follow me," she said, gathering her blood red gown in her hands so she would not trip on it. When she looked back at my hooded face the coldness had melted from her eyes. "Carry yourself proudly." And then she swept away to the landing to descend the staircase for her guests.  
  
"Are you ready?" Christian asked, holding out his arm for me. My black hood nodded but somewhere inside of me I felt my stomach turn. "Just don't step on your cloak. It's a pretty long staircase."  
  
"He's out there," I whispered, taking his arm. "Somewhere...down there...he's watching."  
  
"Then let him watch," he said, leading me forward. "And let him wonder with the rest of them who the mysterious lady is." We stepped out from the corner and over to the landing, stepping out into full view of the entire throng of guests. I held my breath with fear and anxiety, even though no one could see my face. I glanced to my right at Christian to see if he was uneasy at all, seeing as he was not fond of crowds, but to my surprise, he looked oddly at home in front of the public's eye. He was as calm as ever, and he had arranged his face to look somber and respectful.  
  
"One step at a time," he muttered to me, and then we stepped down onto the first step. My mother was far ahead of us, already hitting the foyer floor. But even though the crowd parted and made a path for her to the ballroom, no one was watching her. There were already whispers hovering over their heads, each pair of eyes locked on Christian and myself. They already knew who the dark cloak was, so the element of surprise was not mine to hold. Or was it?  
  
"An accident a flaw..."  
  
"She's embarrassed. I couldn't blame her...so many people..."  
  
"Probably the same gown as someone else--,"  
  
"Or the same character..."  
  
"She wouldn't...her own person..."  
  
The murmurings came to me as only half rumors, but they made me smile nonetheless. So many assumptions and not one of them correct. I wonder what everyone would say if I told them that the cloak was present only because my mother thought my gown was too bright. And because of my strange hilarity to the rumors, I found that I did not care much of walking down a flight of stairs in front of so many people. It could hardly be the most difficult thing of the night.  
  
I lifted my eyes from my feet and scanned the crowd quickly, trying to pick out faces that I recognized. There was Darius Nott and his Spanish beauty looking regal as a knight and a lady, and over by the far left was little Graham Pritchard dressed as the young boy Lucan. Marcus Flint was near the stairway and Malcolm Baddock was over near the ballroom entrance. There were some fifth year Slytherins that I recognized but did not know personally, and then there were a few seventh year Ravenclaws scattered about the crowd whom I've probably seen once in my life. I spotted Mrs. Bulstrode standing tall, slim, and regal by the entrance doors, but I could not find the imposing and grand Millicent anywhere. The one I did find was Blaise near the back of the gathering, and I was surprised to find her standing alone and not too happy about it.  
  
"Final step, lady," Christian said, and I was soon standing at the bottom of the staircase, the long descending staircase far behind me now. He led me through the path that my mother had carved out for me and we proceeded to the ballroom, now no longer an ancient, stone room but now the glamorous court that could have once been known as Camelot itself. Across the room, near the dais, the line of servants and house-elves stood in ceremonial garb and stature, awaiting the time when they would usher in dish upon dish of succulent food. On the platform the bard stood, ready and confident, the harper and flute player sitting at his feet. In front of the dais was a fine, wooden chair, cushioned with green velvet. My mother already sat in the chair, her hands folded across her blood-red skirt and her chin lifted with pride. Christian led me to the chair and we both bowed, as my mother had instructed. Then he brought me to stand to her right and then glided away, disappearing to a corner of the room. I knew that he needn't stay at my side, but I slightly hoped that he would; it would have saved me a whole lot of awkwardness when the servant came forward to take my cloak away.  
  
The entire throng of guests had huddled together atop the stair, looking over at us with hawk-like eyes. They were waiting to be announced and descend, but first they wanted to see me uncloaked and standing in all my splendor. Well...did they get one hell of a shock.  
  
I honestly never thought that a white gown would be such a big deal. I mean, come on...purebloods are the ideal breed for rebellion, so shouldn't they have seen it coming? But the horrified gasp that went up through the adults and the silent gasps I got from my peers told me that I had probably pushed the envelop this time. As I peeled away the black cloak I noted that my gown was slightly blinding in the glowing ballroom. Even the house- elf who came to take my cloak away seemed blinded by it. I kicked him a little to get him on his way.  
  
I turned away from the scurrying creature and saw that my mother was looking up at me with wistful eyes and a smile on her lips; and I have to admit, it kind of scared me at first.  
  
"What?" I asked, clasping my hands in front of myself and facing the waiting crowd. Her smile grew.  
  
"I take back what I said before," she told me, pulling her eyes away from my face and onto the crowd as well. "I—I'm glad you wore that gown."  
  
I frowned. "What made you change your mind?"  
  
"The look on all their faces."  
  
Then the announcements began...and believe me, nothing could have been more torturous than standing for an hour as guest after guest takes their slow, murderous walk down the staircase. I swear, I was prepared to kill someone because I was so damn bored.  
  
Every now and then it wasn't so bad because I'd recognize someone or another. When they would approach my mother and I they'd stop about three meters away and bow to us and my mother would thank them for attending our ball. Then they'd take their time and stare at me and my white dress before the others behind them would shoo them away so they could gape at it as well. It became so monotonous that I think I fell into a standing stupor at one point, Conner's echoing voice announcing guest after guest up near the doors.  
  
"Lord Elliot Richards and Lady Ambergrace Jones as Sir Tristan of Lyonesse and Isuelte of the White Hands."  
  
I watched as the veela girl Christian had told me about came sauntering down the stairwell with a flippy-haired bloke holding onto her arm. The guests who had already descended were lining the walkway, and they stared up at the girl in wonder. I sighed and turned my head away from the two, looking back at Christian near the corner.  
  
"Help me," I mouthed. He grinned, leaning against the wall hidden in the shadows of the towering banners. He shook his head at me and laughed into his hand. I scowled and turned back to my duties, only to see the veela girl and her escort bowing before us as Conner announced Irish and Kino.  
  
"We thank you for attending," my mother said for about the millionth time, and they raised themselves so they could stare at me in surprise and outrage. I shot them both death glares and they moved away without a word, making way for Irish and Kino to come up the walkway behind them.  
  
"Madame Gertrude Bulstrode as Queen Anet of Gwynedd...and her daughter, the Lady Millicent Bulstrode as...as...the Chieftess Elen of the Woad tribes."  
  
I smiled broadly as I saw Millie step down behind her mother, regal gown glittering the candlelight. She had her veil across her face so no one could see her, but I knew that underneath it she was laughing to herself about the dullness of the ceremony. My eyes stayed on her the entire time, and I was very much relieved to know that she was here. I was so absorbed in my relief, in fact, that I did not hear Conner's next announcement and register it until it was too late.  
  
"And finally, I present the Madame Narcissa Malfoy as High Priestess Viviane, her son, Master Draco Malfoy as Sir Mordred, and their guest, the Lady Blaise Zabini as Queen Morgause, the Witch of Lothian."  
  
"Hello," Mrs. Bulstrode said, stopping before me and my mother and bowing to us. We both inclined our heads. "This has been a fine turn out, Zhyerra. I must say that I am very impressed with the outcome of everything." She shot me a quick glance before locking her eyes with my mother once again.  
  
"The compliment is always appreciated, Gertrude. And I see that your daughter has taken the theme this year." My mother smiled as we watched Millicent come up beside her mother, exceeding her height by about two inches. "We're always glad to have you as well, Millicent. But I'm curious if the whispered rumors were true that you came riding on a mare?"  
  
Millie paled then and she glanced sideways at her mother before answering.  
  
"Er — yes, that is true. I thought it to be impractical that a Woad would ride in a carriage at all," she explained. Her mother coughed at her side.  
  
"And I told my daughter that it was tradition for us to ride in a carriage and unorthodox for her to come bounding in on a horse, but she decided to disobey me."  
  
"Nerisdae is descended from a Kelpie, mother," Millicent said through clenched teeth. "She's not just some horse."  
  
"Either way she's got four legs and no doors, so she isn't the traditional carriage." They both glanced over at each other then, Millicent with embarrassment and annoyance and Mrs. Bulstrode with dignity and approval. I wasn't sure if Mrs. Bulstrode was indeed angry with her daughter but instead glad that she had disobeyed her, but I didn't ask. It seemed that Millie hadn't noticed the satisfied look in her mother's eyes. "Well, we've already taken up too much of your time, Zhyerra." Gertrude Bulstrode glanced over her shoulder and then back at my mother with a nod. "I believe Narcissa will want a few words with you as well." She took her daughter by the arm and led her to the right, allowing for our view to be filled with the ever beautiful Narcissa Malfoy.  
  
"Zhyerra," she said, curtsying low for us in her dark blue gown. She looked exquisite, and she knew it too. "I want to praise you for such a grand ensemble. I never thought of Pellinore's castle to be an ideal place for headquart--,"  
  
"Why, thank you, Narcissa," my mother interrupted, sitting up straighter. I frowned in her direction but she didn't see me or my displeasure of her cutting Mrs. Malfoy off. "Indeed, I thought that only a Welsh king had a large enough hall. And look at you, outshining everyone else as usual. You look wondrous, Narcissa."  
  
She bowed, smiling coldly. "Thank you for your compliment, but I dare say there are quite a number among us who outshine us weary adults." She locked her gaze with mine and I felt a cold shiver run down my back. "Like young Pansy, for example. I have to admit that wearing white was...well, quite daring of you."  
  
I held fast to her glare. "I aim to please," I replied. Mrs. Malfoy grinned.  
  
"And you do a fantastic job." She spread her arms wide. "Just like another young woman that came with me today." My mother and I averted our eyes and watched as Blaise stepped up from behind Narcissa, Draco at her side.  
  
I didn't move. I couldn't have either way. I just stared at him as he stared at me, my dark eyes seeming to quake under his steady, gray gaze. I had prepared myself to run if I saw him, but I didn't. I had thought I probably would have cracked under the pressure, but I didn't do that either. I even had the split second thought that I would probably hit him as I had done Blaise, but my hand wouldn't even move the slightest bit. I just stayed very, very still — and stared at him.  
  
"Blaise," my mother was saying, "Draco! How nice to see you after all this time. My, my, my, don't you two look splendid. You grow more beautiful with every day, Blaise, just as Draco grows more handsome."  
  
I felt a tight fist in my chest and I noticed that I was growing light-headed. I was holding my breath, but I couldn't let it go. My heart had stopped and my body was about to explode from all the internal stress I was inflicting on myself. I was afraid I was going to pass out, but I didn't. It would have been too merciful an action, and I was not a merciful person.  
  
"Thank you, Madame Parkinson, for inviting us to this grand event," Blaise answered cheerfully. "I wish my parents could have come, but they are on away business in remote Saipan."  
  
My knees were buckling, sweat began to bead against my brow, every nerve in my body was on fire and I was afraid that I was going to lose all sense. But what I didn't understand was why I was being so affected by our encounter. Sure, I had not seen him in so long, and it would only be natural for my heart to feel so much pain, but becoming downright sickly was unnerving.  
  
"Noble people," my mother said. "And Draco...I thought I would see you long before this ball. It's been awhile."  
  
I watched with dizzying feeling as he knelt down before my mother and bowed, although his eyes never left mine. "You honor me, Madame, and I am sorry for my absence."  
  
"Well, no harm done." She rose from her seat and walked over to Draco raising him with one hand. I clutched onto her empty chair, trying hard not to fall into a painful heap. "Let us all enjoy this night, if not for ourselves than for the sake of the holiday." She spread her arms wide and addressed everyone in the room, her voice vibrant. "Now that the ceremonies have been done with, let the true ball finally begin." She clapped her hands twice and the sweet sounds of the harp and flute began to fill the entire hall, echoing a lively array of music to begin the ball. The servants and house-elves also began their own steady dance among the guests, displaying food to nourish and wine to cleanse. The ballroom erupted with voices of conversation and the huddled courtiers on either side scattered into their own groups and cliques, separating me from my mother, Narcissa, Blaise, and Draco.  
  
That was when I couldn't take it anymore and I felt my knees collapse from under me. I would have fallen flat on the ground had Christian not come hurrying to my side and catching me around the waist.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, lifting me to my feet. I heard the worry in his voice but I didn't register it quickly enough. "You're looking awfully pale."  
  
"No I — Draco...." Oddly enough, I was searching the crowd for him, but even though I was able to pick out my mother's red gown and Mrs. Malfoy's blue one, Draco or Blaise were no where near them.  
  
"Pansy, I don't think you're well enough to be here. Maybe you should head upstairs--,"  
  
"No," I said, pushing his hand away and stumbling away from him. "All I need is some fresh air. I'll only be a minute."  
  
"Do you need me to come with you?"  
  
"No!" I gathered my skirt in my hands and turned towards the ledge garden. "I'll be fine. You have your own problems to worry about." My statement silenced him and I was able to make my way to the glass doors alone. As I walked I scanned the crowd once more and I spotted him. He was standing with Blaise, her arm loop through his, but he wasn't looking at her. He was watching the bard on the dais, listening to his song and the lively tunes from the harp and flute. Just looking at him sent the sudden wave of nausea through me and I turned back towards the doors. And standing in front of the nearest ones, almost as if she had been there the entire time, was Narcissa Malfoy, looking at me through the joyous crowd with blank eyes. In a sudden panic, I swerved to my left and ran for the farthest set of glass doors, opening them slightly and slipping out into the cold night.  
  
"Well, wasn't that a walk through hell," I mumbled to myself, hastily shutting the doors behind me and turning my back on the ball. My mother's garden looked superb in the coming evening, with the glittering fairies illuminating the blossoms. I walked through the small Eden over to the parapet, breathing in the salty sea breeze. Slowly, my senses came back to me, and the sickening feeling I had experienced began to ebb away. Even though the cold chill froze my bones I leaned into the wind, resting my elbows on the stone wall. I half wished that Millicent were with me so I could talk to her, but to have her there meant that I had to go and get her...and I seriously did not want to go back to the ball.  
  
"Isn't this a special evening?" I grumbled, staring out at the moon over the sea. "The ball has only begun and already I'm hiding out from everyone." I laughed. "But it's not like I'm out here for only one reason. I'd rather be alone in a beautiful garden than be stuck inside a grand ballroom with everyone staring at me and my dress. It's like they've never seen white before, those idiots." My hand found its way to my throat and I felt the cold jewel resting there. I held it up to the moonlight and watched as it threw prismatic colors over my face and hand. "Chloe and Madame Tsion said that Morgaine was a shy girl. Did she run away when she couldn't handle things as well? Or did she mask her discomfort and remain?" I let the stone fall from my hand. "It already seems like this ball is going to last a lifetime," I muttered, hanging my head.  
  
"And I honestly say that I agree with you," someone said behind me. My head snapped up and I spun around, my wand jumping into my hand as I did so. It was as if people took their time to wait until I thought I was completely alone so they could pop out of no where and scare the shit out of me. Everyone seemed to be doing so. Everyone including Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy.  
  
Draco  
  
It had to be the worst feeling in the world, seeing Pansy again. She turned to stone the minute she saw me, and I saw her go through phases that no one else noticed, although I kept my worry behind me and remained a void.  
  
First of all, she looked amazing. She probably thought people were staring at her because she was wearing white, but they weren't. They were staring at her because she looked gorgeous. Pansy never flaunted herself and her looks, because she never thought that they were worthy of flaunting. But just as Millicent had always been handsome, so had Pansy always been beautiful. The white of her dress only made her hair darker and her eyes more piercing. It gave her pale skin a golden glow and dramatized the fact that there was not a blemish or flaw on her. Even the simplicity of her hair and the isolated jewel around her neck gave the effect that she needed very little to exceed anyone's standards.  
  
It was to the point where even I, the one who knew she was beautiful to begin with, was stunned. But as her mother spoke to my own and Blaise, she remained silent, her eyes never leaving my face. I slowly saw her pale in comparison to the gown, a glisten of sweat on her brow, and the small shiver of her skirt as she tried desperately to remain standing. I almost reached a hand out to her but stilled the thought before it could progress. I had almost forgotten that I was in no position to care so deeply for her.  
  
"And Draco...I thought I would see you long before this ball. It's been awhile."  
  
It took me a split second to realize that she had said Draco and not Blaise. I quickly knelt to one knee and apologized for my absence, although I could not bring myself to look away from Pansy's face. I knew Blaise was watching us too, but she did not seem too angry with it. But it was when Mrs. Parkinson raised me that I saw him behind her.  
  
I had not seen Pansy's descent, so I had no idea that Machiavelli was her escort. Honestly though, I was surprised to see him there. But my surprise was soon replaced with a strange, mild sense of jealousy at the look on his face. He was watching Pansy as a brother might watch a sister, worried that she would trip as she ran around with the older kids. He, too, had noticed her unusual behavior, and he was hovering in the background, ready to come forward and help her at a moment's notice.  
  
"Now that the ceremonies have been done with, let the true ball finally begin."  
  
And then I was separated from Pansy as a swarm of people began flowing between us. I felt Blaise tug on my arm a bit as I fought to keep her in my sights. I saw her fall and I began to run forward, almost calling out her name...but Machiavelli caught her just in time. He was speaking softly to her, his brow furrowed in concern, but she was pushing him away in defiance. Normally, it would have made me proud to see her be so rebellious, but this time was different. She needed help, and I half wished that she'd just let that Christian fellow attend to her.  
  
"Distracted, Draco?" Blaise cooed at my side. I shrugged, following the fleeing Parkinson with my eyes.  
  
"Always," I replied. "Excuse me." I slipped gently from her hold and headed towards Pansy, hoping to catch her before she fled into hiding; it didn't matter what she wanted or what I wanted anymore, either way I had to make sure that she was okay. But I was sidetracked once again, although for a very different reason.  
  
I had read about Arthurian minstrels and bards in my research of Mordred, and as my memory recalled, none of their traits applied to the three musicians upon the dais. They were all dark-skinned, with features that resembled Asian or Indian decent. But it was not their appearance that distracted me, but their music. It was courtly music, yes, but it was a tad...sinister, to be honest.  
  
"Draco? Draco?" I felt Blaise tap me repeatedly on the shoulder, staring at me. "What is it, Draco?"  
  
"Just the music," I said, staring at the flute player as she swayed in her seat, her eyes closed in her passion for the music.  
  
"Oh, I know; isn't it just lovely? I can't wait until the bard sings later tonight. Come on, Draco! This is a ball! Let's have some fun, at least."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, of course." But I was far more interested in the song than doing anything else at the moment. "Blaise, darling, could you please get me something to drink? It's very dry in here."  
  
She smiled gently at me. "Of course. As the Malfoy wishes." And she left me with a flourish from her gown. I stood in the middle of the room for a few more minutes, staring at the dais like some hypnotized idiot, before someone gripped my shoulder firmly from behind.  
  
"Mesmerizing, I know," a deep, sharp voice said. "But I promise you, they sound much better singing their native music."  
  
I whipped around, knocking the hand off my shoulder in disgust. I had never actually heard his voice before, but there was only one person who could fit the cold precision that was spoken. I stepped away from Christian Machiavelli in disgust, staring at him with narrowed eyes. I noted that he was about half a centimeter taller than me, and it pissed me off even more.  
  
"What do you want?" I snapped. He only smirked, which he stole from me, and raised his hands in surrender.  
  
"Calm yourself, Malfoy. I come in peace."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"You seem extremely agitated with me," he said, crossing his arms. "And yet I come with the simple intention to finally meet the infamous Draco Malfoy. Why are you so hostile towards me?"  
  
In the recesses of my heart I prayed that he was just trying to be kind, clever, or innocent, because no one — no one — could be that unbelievably dense. "I. Wonder." I spoke slowly and quietly, hoping he'd catch the courtly hint and sod off. But no; people like Christian Machiavelli don't sod off, they stick around and annoy the hell out of the person they are talking to. It's what they do and it's what they have been doing for thousands of years.  
  
"You know, I must admit that you fit Mordred perfectly," he said, circling me and taking in my lengthy sword and the Scabbard. "Maybe too perfectly," he added cocking an eyebrow at me and I scowled with all the hatred that I could muster.  
  
"Please be specific and tell a fellow exactly what you are talking about," I hissed, stealing a quick glance around the ballroom. Blaise was over by the staircase talking with the veela girl while Millicent was sauntering over by the windows, oblivious to Crabbe and Goyle following secretively in her wake. Madame Parkinson was speaking with an old lady and my mother and Pansy were no where to be found.  
  
"Well," Christian started, "to start off, you look a lot like he probably did: tall, lean, agile. Although your hair is different."  
  
"Usually is," I grumbled.  
  
"But your like him in other areas than appearance." He unfolded his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets, moving his cloak a little so I caught a glimpse of the dagger belted at his side. "I saw you back there; you've got watching eyes. You notice things. That was a special trait that Mordred treasured, along with riding skills and swordsmanship. I hear you fence; is that true?"  
  
"You hear too much," I shot back. He didn't take the comment to heart.  
  
"Your guarded as well. You don't like to let people in to what your thinking. And..." He nodded a head at my clothes. "You've also got the crisp wardrobe that Mordred was famous for."  
  
In all my life I have never heard the 'click' at the back of my head sound so loud. I think I was close to strangling him at the moment just over the fact that I did not want to have a conversation about fashion with another man.  
  
"Your despicable," I said, turning away from him and walking towards the dais. He called after me, but not loud enough so that it would disrupt the entire event.  
  
"And there's one more for you: you hate me as much as Mordred hated Arthur, and yet you don't even know me."  
  
Pansy  
  
"Mrs. Malfoy," I gasped, curtsying to her approaching figure. She looked even more imposing in the moonlight, and it only made my already nauseous stomach turn once more. "What are you doing out here?"  
  
"I could ask you the very same thing, Pansy. Oh, but then again, this is your ball." She smiled at me, walking over to my side and staring out into the sea as well. A great gust of wind picked up then, sending her blue gown to snap viciously in her wake. "Ah...the Irish Sea. It has been a long while since I saw this sight." She glanced over at me. "You're looking rather flustered about something." I turned away from her quickly, hiding my face. "Is anything amiss?"  
  
"No," I said.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes." I peeked over my shoulder and saw her turn around, leaning her back against the parapet and looking up into the stars.  
  
"You're lying," she said, and I cursed horribly under my breath. I never really did like having these sort of conversations with the Malfoys; with any of them. It was as if I couldn't hide anything from them, and it made it seem that my thoughts and emotions were not mine to own in the first place. "You feel dreadful and sick and you're panicking. That's why you ran out here. So let us try this again, shall we, Lady Morgaine? Is anything amiss?"  
  
"Yes," I answered.  
  
She paused. "It's about my son, isn't is?" I nodded, turning back around and facing her, although she continued to stare up into the stars. "Why is everything always about my son?" She did not say her words with scorn or irritation, but more in a wondering state, as if she really desired an answer. "Why can't the world just leave him alone?" she whispered.  
  
"I'm sorry," I muttered; and I meant it. But she shook her head.  
  
"Don't apologize to me. Never apologize to me." It was the hardest command she'd ever given me, and it would test my obedience to her in the near future. "I'm straying from the point. It pains you to see him."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It pains you to see him with another girl."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You understand this pain."  
  
"No."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
I furrowed my brow at her, uncomprehending. "What do you mean? Tell me."  
  
She threw her moonlit hair over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the brittle wind. In the dim light of the ball and the moon, I noticed a thin line following the curve of her collarbone. It was lighter than her already pale skin, and it was uneven, growing thicker and then thinner as it followed the curve.  
  
"Product of my very first mistake," she said, noticing my curious eyes. "But you.... You forget the summer like it is years and years ago, as does Draco. What happened then stays in the past for you. I'm not sure if you can even remember what happened--,"  
  
"Of I course I remember--!"  
  
"—or how you felt towards my son back then," she finished looking sharply at me and silencing my rebellious tongue. "Do you recall? Neither of you ever dreamed of doubting the other's...what was it again? Oh yes, love."  
  
"Are you...do you think that I'm..." I stuttered. But she waved a fragile hand to cut me short.  
  
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I know of the things that he has done; I have people in Hogwarts who watch over things for me, so I know that he is no loyal boy. I do not approve of his exploitations with Blaise Zabini, although I work hard to act as if I do not know. But she is not of worthy blood."  
  
"Worthy blood?"  
  
"But still, I am talking about you. You and your problem."  
  
"Problem?" I asked. "What problem do I have?"  
  
"A very big one," she whispered. "One that, I am sorry to say, might follow you for a very, very long time."  
  
I stood aghast, staring at Mrs. Malfoy as if she were a horrible stranger. It was the first time I had ever really heard her say sorry, and it was the way she had said it that made my skin tingle. "And what problem would that be?"  
  
"It has to do with the summer." Damn the summer. "And also, with the Beula Dormiens spell." Beula Dormiens could go screw itself over for all I cared.  
  
"I thought those side affects were taken care of," I retorted. "I thought that was over and done with!"  
  
"Calm down, girl. I'm not talking about Beula Dormiens in particular. That mess was settled eons ago." Despite my anger I breathed out a sigh of relief. I had had enough of that wretched spell, and the glasses were enough of a reminder to the horrors that had accompanied it.  
  
"Good."  
  
"But the problem does revolve around the price you had to pay to require said spell." She turned away from the heavens then and stared directly at me, her cold eyes bathed with blankness. I swallowed hard and stared back, trying hard not to think about the Malfoy's parlor room. "Do you bear in mind the thing that you gave in order to obtain that spell?"  
  
I nodded. "Yes."  
  
"And what was it?"  
  
I shivered ferociously then, but whether it was from the piercing winter air or the remembrance of that night I wasn't certain. "I promised Mr. Malfoy that I'd give him my — my soul."  
  
"Precisely. A very large payment for such a young girl, don't you think? A deal with an uncertain fate, I'd say."  
  
Your deal will seal your fate.  
  
My eyes grew wide then and I almost passed out from the connection. But how had Granger known? How could she have found out?!  
  
"There is no uncertain fate," I told her, taking a step away from her and leaning against one of the neighboring cherry blossom trees. "I distorted Mr. Malfoy's memory, so he won't know anything about the promise. If he doesn't know, he can't fulfill it."  
  
I saw a flash of hatred cross Narcissa's face as I mentioned her husband's disability, but I did not bow down to it. Lucius Malfoy had hurt my father, attempted to murder me, and set the life of his son in danger just to get an insurance policy on loyalty...so I wasn't too keen on cutting the man some slack.  
  
"True," she said curtly, her lips pursed much in the same way as Professor McGonagall would do it. "But you are forgetting another part to the deal. You have sworn an oath to him; binding words of magic that keep you indebted to his favor."  
  
I narrowed my eyes. "Which means...?"  
  
"Which means," she said heatedly, "that whether or not Mr. Malfoy withdraws the payment, you are still promised to him that you will offer your soul whenever he so chooses to take it. And, from the look on your face, since you do not seem to understand what I am telling you, it also states that you are also bound to your soul, which is whatever keeps you alive and owns a place in your heart."  
  
There was an ugly quiet that followed as I absorbed everything that she was telling. "So you're saying that whatever my soul is, I can't part with it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, what is it? Is a floating, spirit thing or an actual obtainable object?"  
  
She walked over to a nearby bench and sat upon it, plucking a white oleander from the shrub beside her. "It can be anything at all, as long as it means the world to you." She began plucking the milky petals from the stem as she stared at me, waiting. "It can also be anyone."  
  
A gasp caught on my throat and I choked on it, coughing in to my hand. "Anyone?" I repeated, though my voice was raspy and breathless where hers was dead and quiet.  
  
"Enchantment does a hard time on its victim, you know. It works hard to keep the soul and the person together...but sometimes, people can be just a little more complicated than spells."  
  
I gripped the blossom tree, causing a small sprinkle of pink petals to shimmer around me. "So let's say the person separated itself from its soul...denouncing from it...." I was fighting for composure, and I was slowly winning. "What would happen to them?"  
  
"Quite a lot, you know. The enchantment doesn't physically bring the two together, but it works damn hard to make it difficult for them. Well, for the victim, at least."  
  
"Difficult it what way?"  
  
She plucked off the last petal and let it flutter to the hem of my gown where it disappeared among the white. "It controls your thoughts so you will always think of him. It controls your heart so you will always long for him. It controls your body so you will always desire him. When you are apart from him it will tear you to shreds. When you look at him it will make you ill and weak so there is never a moment's silence for you. It is not until you have made your peace with him will the enchantment let you be. You are bound to him, and will be so forever."  
  
I struggled on my breath and gripped the tree harder, causing a shower of pink to cascade about me. I looked like a bloody cupcake with sprinkles. "You — you said him," I whispered, glaring at her. "You said — him, not it."  
  
She stood up then and brushed the oleander petals from her skirt, taking her time to smooth out every wrinkle and blemish on her dress. Then she moved over to me and placed a tiny hand on my shoulder. When I looked up at her I noticed that she no longer looked cold and distant but quite the opposite now. She was looking at me as if she understood what I was going through...as if she had been through the exact same thing and wanted only to aid the blind.  
  
"Tonight is Christmas, Pansy. Tonight you should be happy. Don't let petty squabbles take that away from you."  
  
I held my ground with her, not wanting to let her in or to accept her pity. "It's not happiness. The only reason I suffer is because of magic; the only reason I endure this pain is because magic bound him as my soul."  
  
"And you make him your soul. It is because he is so important to you that it hurts you to look at him and not at anyone else. It is because you need him and cherish him. It is because--,"  
  
"— don't say it —,"  
  
"You love him."  
  
I moved out of her reach and turned my back on her, hurrying back towards the glass doors, to the ball, and to the safe crowd of people inside, leaving Mrs. Malfoy in the garden alone.  
  
A/N: IMPORTANT!  
  
To my readers: I just wanted to tell you guys that if you want to get a better feel of what the ball and the guests look and feel, then I highly, HIGHLY, suggest that you guys stop by my livejournal and glance and the pictures I have there. They are initially from one of my favorite movies, The Mists of Avalon, but the designs, period base, and feel of the costumes were the inspirations for my Camelot theme. So if you want to get a better picture of what everyone looks like, I offer you my sight. Trust me, they are really cool pictures. And for anyone who wants to do fanart for my story too, please email it to me because it would be greatly accepted. Here is the address to my livejournal: www.livejournal/users/recnadeneres/  
  
And my email is: Recna den   
  
Once again, thank you to me readers and God bless! Holla. 


	22. The Way We Are

Chapter Twenty-two The Way We Are

Blaise was having a wonderful night. The only thing that could have made it better was if it were her own ball, where she was the star hostess and not Pansy Parkinson. But Pansy didn't bother her now; not tonight. Because tonight Pansy wasn't having very much fun, but Blaise was.

Blaise was having a wonderful, wonderful night.

For an hour past, the ball had only grown greater in its festivities. The minstrels and bards were playing a lively tune while the singer filled the hall with a song of livery and valor, speaking of the good fighting days in Arthur's reign. The floor was brimming with jovial dancers and the walls were lined with merry guests, everyone enjoying the beautiful evening. Madame Parkinson was sitting in her chair once more, speaking with a man who had come as the Duke of Cornwall, and Madame Malfoy was standing close to the stairway, drinking from a golden goblet and watching everyone avidly. Millicent had long since took command of the dance floor, and even the Head Girl of Hogwarts was having her fill of fun, smiling as she tried to lead a struggling Rhiannon in a simple waltz. And she, Blaise Zabini, was having a marvelous time sweeping across the mosaic tiles, her green skirts swishing and Draco Malfoy's hand in hers.

She hadn't known that he was a such a graceful dancer. In fact, she could never recall seeing him dance before this night. At the Yule ball back in their fourth year he had stayed rooted to his seat, glaring at Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum and not once taking the time to ask Pansy to dance. Even during the numerous pureblood balls that were thrown yearly, he had evaded the floor, hiding out in shadows or remaining outside with Crabbe and Goyle. But the way he led her across the tiles, manipulating the flooring with their feet and never missing a beat, made her second guess his abilities. Sure, he had always had the tall, lightly muscled build of a dancer, but she had never thought he had the talent to accompany it.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, gripping her waist as they brushed past a Lancelot and Elaine.

"Yes, of course," she said cheerfully. "I was just distracted for a moment."

"By what?"

She grinned and gathered her skirt in one hand, twirling away from him and curtsying sweetly as the song ended. "By your dancing."

He bowed to her with a small smile, a prize for anyone in his presence. "Thank Leo for that. Parrying his blows teaches me a thing or two about the dance floor."

She titled her head at him as he came forward to take her hand and lead her to the side. "You seem oddly content at the moment. Quite a switch from before."

"From before? How was I acting before?"

"You didn't even want to be here."

"Well," he said, accepting two goblets from a passing house-elf and handing one to Blaise. She took it and smiled gratefully, surprised at this small courtesy. "Sometimes, things change."

_Draco_

It was true, things had changed. Although, probably not in the way that Blaise thought they had. I was trying to be more...courtly...towards Blaise, seeing as I had come with her to the ball, but my thoughts still lingered elsewhere. Pansy had not been present for quite sometime, and I hoped that she would return to the ball soon.

"You two look flushed," Millicent said, coming over to us and laughing. I bowed my head to her and was surprised to see that Blaise was smiling genuinely.

"And you are another one who has the surprising skill of dance," she said, sipping at her goblet. "I hadn't known you to be so graceful, Millie."

"Graceful? Me?" She laughed loudly. "Please, Red, give your flattery to someone convincing. I just keep moving, hoping I won't collide with some poor little lady!" They both laughed then, and I was slightly relieved when Nott came forward to join us.

"Well now, isn't this something? A throng of the most high-ranking people and I'm not one of them? A chieftess, a queen, and the high king's son? I think I should be insulted." We all turned to him and opened the circle, allowing him a place to enter. He was wearing a flourishing ensemble, but it was subtle when it came to declaring rank, and I hadn't been listening when he and his parents were being announced.

"Well, us northerners do not appreciate Cornish kings, now do we?" Blaise said playfully, earning laughs from both Darius and Millicent. I, however, not really understanding the joke as I wasn't all that interested, kept my mirth to myself and drank from my own goblet.

"Not even King Mark?" he asked, stepping into the circle. "But if Irish rogues can appreciate me, than I think my own countrymen...or countrywomen...can find it in their hearts to accept me as well."

The three of them went on to talk about their 'histories' and discuss political and personal ties between their characters while I allowed myself to listen to the music once more. The three musicians were another reason for my lax attitude at the ball, although I couldn't quite let myself to admit it.

I watched as the harper took the time to retune his instrument before strumming up a soother melody, allowing for the flute to blow its wistful sounds over the guests. I turned to the bard and was surprised to see not the one man but a girl as well. I had not seen her join them, turning the trio into a magical quartet. But as she joined the bard in his song and harmonized with great precision, I once again found myself staring, not being able to pay attention to anything else.

"He's taken quite a liking to their music, wouldn't you say?" I heard Nott's none-too-subtle whisper, even under the current of soothing voices, but I waited awhile before I said anything, letting them think that I had not heard.

"He's been like that all night, Darius," Blaise told him. "I mean, they are lovely singers and minstrels, but to make Draco so entranced? That's quite an accomplishment."

"Well, it's no surprise," Millicent muttered. Both of them seemed to have rounded on her for they both asked why. "Don't tell me you didn't notice? Goodness, is everyone really so thick these days?! They're gypsies, you dolts. There's gypsy magic in almost everything they do, especially in their music and dance."

I quickly discarded of my earlier plan and looked sharply to Millicent, my brow furrowed. "Gypsies?" I asked, startling Blaise and Nott at my sudden interjection. "Are they really?"

"Yeah. Powerful ones too, from the East, if you've noticed."

"How do you know?"

She shrugged, as if her constant flow of information was nothing more than common knowledge. "I overheard Mrs. Parkinson telling my mother. She said that they're from a very powerful tribe and that it was a miracle that she was able to have them here tonight."

I turned back to the quartet and stared, seeing features on them that should have given me insight to their background from before: the tanned skin, the almond-shaped eyes, the dark hair. I had suddenly heard Madame Tsion's voice in my head when Millicent mentioned them, and I recalled the seamstress's mentioning gypsies in our conversation.

"Well, isn't that just vital information for your everyday life?" Nott piped in, sounding rather bored with the subject. He turned to Blaise and bowed to her, extending her his hand. "Now, Malfoy, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask this lovely queen to dance with me."

I watched as Blaise smiled sweetly and turned her eyes to me, waiting.

"Do you mind?" she asked, and I decided to return her smile, for she was obviously having a wonderful time.

"Not at all," I said. "I'd like to talk a little longer with Bulstrode, so I shall not suffer your absence alone." She touched my arm lightly with her hand before following Darius onto the dance floor and disappearing into the crowd.

"That sentence was simply dripping with courtly mockery," Millicent said, grinning at me.

"Not so. I was being sincere."

"Liar."

"All right, half sincere."

She smiled and let the subject die. "So I see you're pretty fascinated with gypsies. Why the sudden interest in them?"

I shrugged, allowing one of the servants to take the empty goblet from my hands. "I was talking with someone yesterday and she mentioned them to me. It just jogged my memory is all." I didn't want to tell Millicent about Madame Tsion because she seemed to be a very secretive person, and speaking her name felt like I was betraying her privacy.

"Since you're so keen on recalling conversations at the moment, why don't we fall back here and recall one together?" She pushed me closer to the wall, near a corner with a small alcove in its stones. We were still in good view of most of the hall, although one had to look carefully to find us.

"What now?"

Millicent leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, watching the dancers though speaking to me.

"Remember what I told you earlier? In the hallway? The very first thing."

"Something's going to happen tonight," I repeated, my hands in my pockets. "Something gargantuan; you're just not sure what."

"Well, I have acquired a little bit more since the ball started, and if I add it all up, I don't really like what I get."

I looked up at her, befuddled. "But you've been dancing all night so far. When would you have found the time to find this stuff out?" She unfolded her arms and jabbed me in the gut, causing me to double over briefly. "Ow."

"Think about it, Draco, what reasons do I have for dancing? I never liked it before and I don't like it now."

"Then why--,"

"There are a lot of people here," she interrupted. "A lot of different people who know a lot of different things. And since I can't exactly go to each person and talk to each of them, I needed a way to get around this ballroom and listen to people without just standing around and straining for hearing. People never really think others can hear them when their dancing around, even if they're directly in front of you."

I had to admit that I was very impressed with Millicent that day, and growing more so as time progressed. Here she was, a stunning chieftess amid a group of cheery wizards and witches, and she was working her arse off, collecting information and trying to piece together a puzzle without any forewarning of the end result. And while she did this I was standing around, listening to the music and floating off into dreamland. It was a tad embarrassing on my part.

"You've been busy," I said glumly, but she did not notice my gloom.

"Yes, and for good reason. I've found a little more to our mystery event tonight, and it's not looking pretty. Take a look at where we are, Draco. Take a good look. What do you see?"

I scanned the span of the ballroom, taking in the elaborate decorations and glowing setting, but I knew she did not mean the ball itself. She wanted me to look at the whole picture...at the whole castle...at the whole fortress.

"I see a stronghold fit for battle," I said slowly. "A fortress of strength and power. This is a citadel made to house many, and located so that it was open to battle on one side and guarded by the sea on the other." I looked up at her and saw the glint in her eyes as she stared at the garden through the windows.

"Aye. Bit strange, don't you think? Choosing a place so up north, where its backside is protected with coastal rocks and its body needing such repair so magic could reside in its walls? It is a long shot for a Parkinson to chose Pellinore's castle."

"How so?"

She shrugged. "Pellinore's line was prominent in the knight's tales, not directly with royalty. Besides, if one is placing the theme as the Court of Camelot, wouldn't it be a tad more sensible if we were in the Court of Camelot?"

I waved a dismissive hand at her accusation. "Camelot disappeared into the mists a long time ago, along with the rest of Arthur's time. Even if we went to its initial location and used magic, we wouldn't find it. It belongs to Faerie now."

"You have a point, Malfoy, but what about Caerleon? It is closer and was the capital before Camelot. Why not chose that castle to be host? I'll tell you why: because it is much too close to central location and it has no insurance protection around it. It is vulnerable on all sides."

I stared at Millicent in amazement. Not only had she gathered together her information, but she had obviously been vigorous in knowing her history as well. "So," I started, trying to catch up with her conversation, "you think this place was chosen as some sort of headquarters?"

She shook her head. "I don't just think, I know."

"But for what?"

The sigh that replied was not a reassuring one. "That part is still a mystery to me. All I've found out is that if anything happens in the future, I could almost guarantee that this is where the source of it will be housed."

I shuddered at the thought but quickly hid it from Millicent. I nudged her in the arm gratefully. "You've been doing a lot, Bulstrode. I praise you. I just wish I could help in some way."

"Yeah, right." She nudged me right back and pushed herself from the wall, tucking a loose tendril behind her ear and gathering her skirts in her hands. "You've got more than enough to deal with tonight." And she hurried into the crowd, either to gain more tidbits or to simply evade the 'what the hell are you talking about?' from me.

I watched her go and was almost about to pursue her to ask what she was on about when I noticed my mother near the other end of the hall, talking with Mrs. Parkinson and the man dressed as the Duke. Madame Zhyerra looked calm enough, and the Duke was polite in face and gestured when he spoke with them, but it was mother who looked out of place and haggard. Her face was tight with repressed anxiety, and I could tell she was nervous about something by the way she kept darting her gaze around the room, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. I wondered what was making her so nervous, but I wasn't about to try and figure it out. I had learned to steer clear of my mother's trials unless they specifically concerned me or she purposely wanted me to know; and right now, watching as she spoke curtly with the hostess and the Duke, she wanted her distress to be as discreet as possible.

"Watching again, are you? You have a certain knack for that."

I jumped, surprised, from the wall and spun around, trying to find the voice that had spoken, for I knew that I did not appreciate its owner being so near me.

"And you have a certain annoying knack for following me around," I snapped, looking towards the alcove in the wall. I saw a shadowed figure there and I was quickly enraged at the fact that I had not noticed him before. "How long have you been in there?"

Christian Machiavelli was standing just in the alcove, enough so that he could not be seen by wandering eyes. "Long enough," he said, moving out a little so that the flickering candlelight from the chandeliers just exposed his face. He wasn't smiling or grinning. "Just long enough."

I glared at him in indignation, sincerely hoping that he had not heard my conversation with Millicent. I did not know if he knew anything about the hidden events of tonight, and I wanted to keep my knowledge and source of information a secret. "What do want?" I drawled, hoping he'd just go away. But he shrugged lazily, running a hand through his hair.

"Nothing," he said, stepping out of the alcove and walking towards me. "Nothing that you could give me, anyway." He paused a bit as he passed, looking at me with a strange glint in his eyes. I was taken aback by the lack of anger or malice that I expected there, and I did not know whether he was sincere when he spoke to me or just plain bored. "By the way, I compliment you on your taste in music. I like the gypsies too." And then he walked away, leaving me to wonder if he had genuinely tried to offer me the hand of friendship.

_Pansy_

Yes, I admit it, I am a coward. A whimpering, spineless, pusillanimous coward. I run every time I face a problem or dilemma that confuses me, and then I sit on my own for countless hours and feel bad about myself and why I can't comprehend what is going on around me.

Damn, being sixteen is so bloody difficult.

I sat in the empty entrance hall, listening as the ball continued through the doors next to me. The music was magical and the voices joyful, but I did not feel at all like celebrating anything. All I really wanted to do was go back up to the tower and sit outside, but that would hardly be a wise decision. It was very cold out, and being so close to the wind was murderous.

So I moved farther down the wall, away from the door, gathering my white gown around me so I would not feel the icy stone beneath me. I rubbed my exposed shoulders and tucked my hands under the enormous sleeves, trying to keep as warm as possible. I sighed in exasperation, wishing that everyone would just go back home.

Just then, Christian poked his head through the ballroom doors, looking around the entrance hall. When he saw me he frowned, although he did not step out from the room.

"Are you coming back in?" he asked. I shook my head and looked at the ground.

"No."

He shrugged and retreated back to the ball, gratefully leaving me alone with my gloom and my still churning stomach. A small part of me wished he had stayed but only because it was a bit haunting to be in the entrance alone, with the winter wind whistling through the oak doors. Other than that, I did not want to talk with Christian at all at the moment, and I hoped he was at least having some sort of enjoyment in the ball.

"Pansy?"

"I said no; I don't want to be with all those people right now."

Irish's face appeared in front of me, smiling, and I gasped in surprise. "Sorry," she said, shrugging good-naturedly. "I didn't know."

"Irish!" I tried to jump to my feet but she placed a hand on my shoulder, settling me back down.

"Don't worry about it; I'm not going to force you to come back to the ball."

"No, I...I'm sorry that I snapped at you--,"

"Don't be," she said, cutting off my apology and sitting down next to me. "It's your ball, after all."

I stared at her, confused, and said, "What are you doing here?" But she only shrugged and waited a moment before she answered me...vaguely.

"I saw you come out her a while ago, but you never came back. I was just coming to see where you went."

"What about Kino?" I asked, looking around for the strict-faced Head Boy. "Where's he?"

"Still inside. He's a bit steamed at the moment, so I decided to give him some time off to calm down. I never was appreciative of his temper."

I gaped. "Rhiannon has a temper?"

Irish nodded fervently, although the matter did not seem to phase her in the slightest. "When he wants to, yes. But it's not long lasting. He'll simmer down in a few minutes and frankly, I don't mind the break." She leaned back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I still haven't properly congratulated you."

I frowned. "For what?"

"For having the courage to wear what you want and not what other's tell you to."

I titled my head to her and waited for her to continue, but she didn't. She just stared at the ceiling, smiling, as if she were aware that her statement had a double meaning but didn't think it necessary for her to emphasize. "Er, thank you," I said, and then allowed a rather strange silence to settle for a moment or two.

I watched the flambeaux on the other wall as its light flickered against the intruding wind. It threatened to go out many times, but always sparked up again with a new blaze, willing itself to continue against the oncoming current. I suddenly found myself asking Irish why Kino was so angry, and then I cursed myself for prying into her business. She had come out here to find me and yet she did not dive right in with questions on my location, leaving me to do things as I willed while I immediately meddled with her affairs. God, sometimes I just want to hit myself, I'm so stupid.

"Nothing big," she answered, ignoring my silent scolding to myself. "He's just a little embarrassed, is all. I was trying to teach him how to dance, and he was struggling so much with it that he gave up and stormed into a shadowy corner. It'll blow over him in a while, and in the mean time, I can spend some time with my hostess and fellow prefect." She smiled sweetly at me then, and I was suddenly wondering how on earth she was able to look so innocent and then switch to become the feared Head Girl at school.

"Well, aren't you the patient girlfriend."

She cleared her throat. "Patience really has nothing to do with it. I just don't like to see him angry or flustered like that, so I put aside my own frustration and wait until he can get over his own. To me, he always comes first."

I glanced over to her and was shocked to see her face so somber and sincere, with the sweet smile no longer on her face. "That's a bit one-sided, don't you think? I mean, doesn't that mean you're always thinking about him and what's good for him and how the world revolves around him or if the--,"

She was laughing. An empty sort of laugh, but still edged with the genuine sounds of amusement. "I guess I couldn't blame you for seeing it that way, but there's a lot more to it than just black and white love and hate. I care about Kino's happiness because he cares about mine. If he didn't, he wouldn't have danced with me in the first place." She turned to me then, staring straight into my eyes. "It's complicated business, love. Sometimes it works in ways that we don't understand. But despite that, you have to just let it take its course."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything, for my words would have seemed too mediocre next to her simple sentences of wisdom. I knew that there was a simple lesson to be learned here, and that I should have taken her meaning to heart and apply it to what was happening to me now, but I didn't. I was afraid to...and even more afraid of what I would think afterwards.

"Irish," I started, keeping my eyes focused on my hands. I felt her face turn to me as she waited for me to continue. "Can I ask you something?"

There was a moment's hesitation before she said, "Of course."

"Do — do you...does that mean that you...love Kino?"

A pause. "Love?" she asked, her voice unnaturally quiet. She stood up and straightened her dress, staring at the flames dancing in their flambeauxs. "Love." I glanced up at her and was taken aback by the look of determination in her face, set aglow by the surrounding fires. "Do I love Kino?" She walked away from me and over to the stairwell from which I had descended, placing a hand on the railing.

"Sorry," I mumbled, hoping that I had not offended her. "I was just...I shouldn't have pried into your personal business like that--,"

"I don't know."

I looked up. "Huh?"

She was still standing by the stairwell, but now she was looking past me, to where the doors to the ballroom were. I, however, was fixed on her face and the sudden light that seemed to come from it.

"It's my answer to your question: I don't know. I don't know if I love Kino Rhiannon, because love is a very strong word. I guess it all depends on what your definition of love is."

"My definition of love..."

"If you're asking me if I like him, then my answer is yes; I like him very, very much." She smiled widely then, but her eyes still did not meet mine. "If you're asking me if I'm attracted to him, then my answer is also yes, of course I am. And if you're asking me if I care for him, then my answer is still yes, I care deeply for him." And then the smile faded from her lips but still remained in her eyes, and I waited to hear what else she wanted to say. "But if you're asking if I think about him all the time, am reminded of him constantly, and wonder if he thinks about me too, then yes. If you're asking if just hearing his voice or seeing his face makes me feel safe and secure, then yes. If you're asking if simply hearing his name makes my day a little better, then yes. And if you're asking if there is no better feeling than his hand in mine, then yes." Her smile returned then and she sighed. "But you are not asking any of that, are you Pansy? You're asking me if I love him."

I was speechless, caught unawares by the passion Irish had revealed to me. In a way it was very uncomfortable, but also very calming. It almost made me believe that there might be innocent love in the world; a love that was pure and sweet, and not darkened by desire, dishonesty, or debauchery.

"No," I said, shaking me head slowly. "I'm not asking that...not anymore. I think I understand some things better now."

"So do I." I whipped my head around sharply, a new voice frightening me. And who else would I find but Kino himself, standing in the doorway and staring at Irish, clearly explaining to what or whom she had been staring at.

Kino turned to me and bowed low, causing me to jump to my feet so I would not disrespect him. "Rhiannon," I blurted out, curtsying diplomatically. "Or, should I say King Pelles?"

"Lady Morgaine, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to give me a moment with the Lady of the Lake and myself. I fear that I have some apologizing to do." He flicked his gaze over to Irish and I was surprised to see the faintest smile graze his lips. I don't think I'd ever seen Kino Rhiannon smile, and it sort of creeped me out.

"Er—yeah...I mean, yes, of course you can." I stepped aside and passed him, heading back towards the ball, but I faltered a bit near the entrance. I stole myself a quick look back and saw Rhiannon bowing over Irish's hand, kissing it softly and muttering an apology under his breath. She was smiling genuinely now, and she looked almost close to tears. I quickly turned away and ran into the ballroom, clutching my stomach. It took every ounce of willpower that I had, but I was able to sustain my laughter until I was well away from the couple. But I did not scorn them, even though I laughed at their rather ridiculous behavior. Love just sometimes did that to people.

"What do you want?"

"I want answers."

"I know that. What do you want answers to?"

"To everything."

"Oh. Well...that could be quite difficult." He bent down and picked a jessamine from the ground, holding it delicately in his hands. "I know a lot of things, Bulstrode, but I am hardly capable of explaining everything."

"Cut the bullshit, Christian. You know what I mean."

"Yes and no. I know that you are aware of the events tonight, because that is why you are out here. I do not know what it is you are asking of me."

"I want you to tell me exactly what is going to happen."

"Your guess is as good as mine."

She frowned. "Not necessarily. You know more than I do."

"I'm glad that we agree." She hit his shoulder. He glared at her, his voice deadpan. "Ow."

"First of all, how did you find out?"

"You know, you really do look lovely tonight. Why so fixed up? You'll only get blood on that beautiful dress of yours."

"Did your father tell you?"

"No one had to tell me. I found out on my own terms."

"And what did your terms tell you?"

"That people are going to get hurt."

She backed away from him to sit on a nearby bench. The wind was blowing, and it was not gentle. "How badly?"

"People will die. Think of it like a Second Holocaust."

"Who did you find out from? Who were you watching?"

"..."

"Why are you here then? If you know what is going on, why are you sticking around, waiting for it to happen?"

He plucked one of the blossoms from the stem and stared at it. "I found out from the source."

"The Dark Lord?"

"..."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" He sighed. "Not when you're of the Machiavelli household."

"What will happen?"

"I'm here because I have to be. I came here to warn Pansy and to talk to Blaise for what might be the last time. But, then again, I know how much you hate the idea of Blaise and I together."

"It's disgusting."

"I know, which is why I will stop talking about it, as it is distasteful in your presence."

"You received a letter from your parents. Why?"

He froze, his back turned to her as he allowed the blossom to flutter from the parapet, making its subtle dance down to the sea below. "How did you know about that?"

"I was late meeting Pansy for the train back home. I was late for a reason, and don't always think you're the only stealthy one around here."

He turned his back to her. He smiled. "You're pretty good. Having you as an ally will be rewarding after all."

"I'm so bloody flattered. So what did your parents say?"

A pause.

"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori."

"Love and honor for you country?"

"Basically, yes."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Apparently it means that I have dedicated myself to Great Britain and for the good of all Great Britain."

"What?"

"I got another letter from them, right before I arrived at Pellinore's castle."

The wind blew a thunderous wind across the garden then, and the two hugged their cloaks closer to their bodies until it had passed.

"Why though?" she asked. "Why the warning?"

"Because they are afraid that I have forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

"Do you want to know what the Dark Lord intends to do?"

"No. But I'm guessing that he's going on a cursing spree tonight."

"Maybe. All I know is that we're in for a war."

She laughed. "Sounds a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"War usually is a dramatic thing."

"But how would anyone go about that without causing a tremendous uproar? Didn't you mutter something about a Second Holocaust? What are we talking about, genocide? A tad extreme and sloppy for the Dark Lord, don't you think?"

"I said to think of it like a Second Holocaust, I didn't say that it was going to be one literally. It is just a term that my father uses."

"So what's with the blood?"

"I don't know. But there's going to be a lot of it tonight. Don't ask me how, because I don't know that either."

She looked at him and he turned around, feeling her eyes on his back. "Why would your parents be so keen on your loyalty to Britain?"

"You know, you're asking quite a lot of questions."

"Just answer the question."

"No, I can't. Not that one." He turned around and tossed the rest of the blossoms over the edge, his other hand holding fast to the hilt of his dagger. "If either of us knows anymore, we'll meet back here. In the meantime..." He walked past her and back towards the glass doors. "I suggest we return to the ball." And he slipped through the doors without another word.

_Draco_

I actually danced with quite a number of people that night. First of all was Blaise, but then after she went on to Darius, and then to Flint and Baddock, I was left standing near the wall, alone. This little factor was noticed almost instantly, and I was soon swept out onto the floor by a Ravenclaw girl named Orla, or something of the other, because her mother was a good friend of my mother's, or something or other. And because I needed desperately to keep my mind busy, I said yes. After Orla, there was Mandy Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw of my same year, two sisters named Diana and Artemis from Latvia, and the veela girl, whose name was Ambergrace and had a certain fixation with talking.

Each girl, although polite and enjoyable in their own ways, (save for Ambergrace), were tolerate to me, so I did not mind them and let down my guard for awhile. But as I glided across the dance floor with each, I could not help but feel that they did not fit with me. I felt awkward with each girl, and it wasn't until I had bowed a farewell with them was I able to breathe easy once more. So it was something of a relief for me when I found Blaise standing before me, one hand in mine and the other on my shoulder, ready for the next dance.

"Quite popular, Draco, as usual," she said, smiling at me. Her breathing was shallow and her brow was glistening, showing the small toll that the dancing had taken on her.

"I see that you've been busy as well," I said, the music starting up again as I led us around the tiles. She only smiled.

"But no one here is as good a dancer as you."

"Hardly." I greatly contradicted myself as a stray couple headed for us and I quickly whipped Blaise to the right, leading her in a flowing turn to avoid a collision. When we fell back into step she cocked an eyebrow at me. "Like I said before, I'm only deriving my steps from fencing. One cannot be heavy on their feet for then one will find that they have lost and there is a blade embedded deep in their side." She laughed then, and I grinned slightly. "Basically the same concept as the dance floor."

But Blaise wasn't listening to me anymore; at least, not avidly. She was still smiling, but her eyes were wandering, looking somewhere past my shoulder and never leaving the spot. I turned my head to see what she was looking at but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I saw the Head Girl walk out into the entrance hall, Machiavelli standing idly by the door, and a strange man who seemed as if he were trying to look like Merlin but failing miserably and instead looking as though he were drowning in his robes.

"Something of interest?" I asked Blaise, only mildly interested in her answer. But she quickly looked down to the ground, the smile suddenly leaving her face as she did so.

"Nothing. I...it was nothing." She quickly let go of me than and curtsied hurriedly, always looking at the floor and never to my face. Then she darted out into the crowd and disappeared from my sight, leaving me to sort of stand there in an odd confusion.

But I was soon saved from the awkwardness when the minstrels put down their instruments and sat, stone-faced, as they watched Madame Parkinson walk out into the middle of the hall, people clearing away from her as she did.

"To the fabulous court," she said, her voice ringing clearly through the hall. Everyone hushed to listen to her speak, and she smiled a polite smile to them all. "As the High Queen, I have prepared for you an extraordinary form of entertainment tonight. Far from the East, these wizards and witches have come, and they are here today to perform for you ancient wonders of lore that come from the raw magic of our ancestors."

She swept her hand over to the two musicians and two bards, and everyone turned to them with curious whispers and stares. Everyone quickly moved to the edges of the hall, each person growing more and more excited about the display. Entertainments were usually scheduled during banquets and balls, so as not to bore the guests, but such amusements differed from court to court, and demonstrations such as these were very rare, even back then.

"It's them?" Nott asked, coming up beside me, as the two males and two females came walking towards Mrs. Parkinson, each one still with a somber face.

"Well, they are gypsies. It wouldn't surprise me if they had more than one talent up their sleeves." The gypsies began circling around the room in random patterns, seeming as if they were idly walking but looking as if they were searching the crowd, all during the time Madame Parkinson was explaining the different entertainments in courts throughout Arthurian Britain. I was watching the closest gypsy; the female bard who had come into the ball later than the rest.

It surprised me to see that she was a very young girl, probably no more than a year shy of my own age. But she was taller than what was average in the East and her eyes were large and slanted, giving her a suspicious look. Her skin was tanned and her hair was dark, twisted around her head in many little braids. The gown she wore was Arthurian but primitive, and she was carrying a rather lengthy looking staff with a wood knot for its end.

"And now," Zhyerra Parkinson said, leaving the floor, "I give you the Alitian gypsies."

The hall suddenly burst with radiant lights of red, black, and green, the air spilling over with the music of harps, flutes, drums, and pipes, and the gypsies dancing around in an ornate pattern of movement and magic. The girl with the staff was standing in the middle, her lips moving constantly as she moved smoothly with her staff, endless spells pouring forth from its end. The people gasped in delight and cheered on the display, disregarding the small detail that the performers were not smiling in the least.

But I was not among the spectators watching the performance. I was not paying any attention to the elaborate show before me because something else had caught my eye.

Over in the opposite corner of the room, near the glass doors to the ledge, Pansy was standing, half concealed in shadow. She was watching the gypsies with the same interest that I had had for them earlier, but she wasn't giving them her full attention. Standing next to her, whispering excitedly into her ear with a desperate and frustrated look, was Machiavelli. He was tugging on her elbow as he spoke, looking nothing like the composed seventh-year that he was, but like an impatient child. Pansy had her head tilted toward him, but her eyes were on the girl in the center of the room, weaving spells with her staff in a never-ceasing fluid motion.

But then Machiavelli's impatience finally got to her, and she turned to him, looking slightly annoyed and slightly amused. And as I watched them, I found myself moving through the crowd, making my way towards them by the longest route and sticking close to the walls. Pansy glanced back at the gypsies, turned towards Machiavelli, and then sighed heavily, brushing past him and heading towards the ledge garden once more. I moved along with her, becoming her mirror image from across the room. I hurried towards the closest set of glass doors and burst through them just as she did on the other end of the hall, the guests undisturbed by either of us.

I suddenly found my heart pounding rapidly in succession which, by the way, was very foreign. All that I could derive from it was that I was either very excited or very sick. But no matter what the cause, I knew that the moment I was fearing, the moment that I had decided to avoid from the very beginning of the night, was the one moment that I was heading towards right now. I brushed along the small stone path, ducking under the branches of cherry blossoms and avoiding the fragile petals of roses and briars lining my way...and it wasn't until I saw the small, white figure standing next to the parapet did I finally stop and watch.

_Pansy_

My mother was announcing something to the entire hall when I slipped back into the ball, her small, blood-red figure standing amongst the crowd with her arms raised high above her head. I didn't catch what she was saying at first, as her words simply ricocheted off the walls repeatedly, but when she swept her arm over to the two bards and two musicians I got the gist of entertainment, even though I had no idea there was going to be any.

But I couldn't help but be slightly intrigued by the whole thing. Gypsies performing? Publicly? We had learned about them at one point during History of Magic, and the only thing that I had written down on the subject was that they were originally just bandits, preferring to travel in secluded bands and keep to themselves. The magic factor about them came up later on, but I only remembered just that little bit. I remember the Mudblood had scrawled on three pages in her tiny handwriting, and when I glanced over at her notes she yanked her page away. I recall wanting to pull her hair.

I decided to get a closer look, so I made my way back down the stairs as the crowds parted, making a large, clear area for them to stand. Three of them looked normal enough, in their tropical wardrobe of simple fashion, but the other girl, the bard, was dressed differently...more regal. And she carried a staff that I had not seen before that moment.

And because of her uniqueness compared to her companions, I was intrigued, almost anxious to see what she was going to do. But then someone quickly grabbed my arm and jerked me to the side, pulling my sleeve down my arm.

"Christian!" I hissed, pulling my sleeve back up and glaring at him, his hand still clutching my arm. "Could you not do that?" I asked blandly, pulling my arm free and looking back towards the gypsies. My mother was explaining the tradition of entertainment as the four foreigners circled around her, moving with the grace and motion of ballet dancers...almost as if they did not walk but were gliding upon water.

"Pansy!"

It was probably the third time he had hissed in my ear and I batted him away with one hand, refusing to listen to him. "Calm down," I answered back, not really caring what he wanted my attention for. My mother had just given the floor over to the gypsies and the girl with the staff was positioning herself in the center, one arm raising high above her head.

"Pansy, Blaise left...alone!"

The entire hall instantly exploded with light, color, and sound, the mixture of magic and mortal fascination filling the ballroom to the brim. The gypsies were dancing at a rapid rhythm now, scarves and ribbons, and bells being manipulated by hands and arms as the girl in the middle kept the magic flowing steadily, her lips moving rapidly under her breath. But even though this was a captivating sight, and although my eyes were glued to the display before me, my attention had now been given over to Christian, my bare shoulders suddenly going cold despite the warmth of the room.

"Alone?" I asked him, speaking with a voice that sounded stupid to my own ears. He stared down at me with silence etched into his very features.

"Yes," he said. I shivered. "She's not supposed to be alone. It's too dangerous to be alone."

I almost yelled at him that I already knew that and that he needn't have to be so cross with me, but I quickly remembered the look he had had on his face when he was watching her enter the castle and knew that his sharpness was only due to deep concern. So I said, "I know," and then quickly composed myself, making sure no one near us was listening.

"Pansy, I don't want her to get hurt--,"

"I know, I know," I muttered, growing impatient with his panic. I glanced around the room quickly. "Are you sure Draco is not with her? If she were with him, she'd be more than safe." I felt a numb silence from his direction and I looked his way, noting the raised eyebrow and pursed lips. "It's true," I said defiantly, and then turned back towards the gypsies again.

"She separated from him; I was watching her. She went out onto the garden ledge--,"

"Then she'll be fine. It's not like she's so desperately far away--,"

"—and then she followed the garden path to the stairwell near the side of the castle...the one that leads to the coast."

"There's a stairwell leading to the coast?"

"Yes. Your mother flanked it with two rather large willows, so it's not visible unless you're looking for it or simply just notice it. Blaise happened upon it and followed its path. She's walking on that coast alone right now. These lights can hardly reach that far."

"So go after her," I grumbled. He stared at me, cold and hard.

"I want to; I will; I am. But I can't..." He seemed to be bracing himself for something. "...Not unless you come as well."

"Not in Hell and back," I told him, tilting my head so I could get a better look at the gypsies. They were moving swiftly and in unison, as if they were not four bodies but merely one.

"No, hear me out first. I need to go there and keep her company so she'll be protected; I've been popping in and out of shadows since I was little, so it won't seem weird to her--,"

"I bet."

"—But I need someone to watch my own back. I need _you_ to watch my back. You need to stand lookout in case anything happens. It is vital that I know about anything odd that happens."

"You can't be serious." The girl in the middle said something, almost sang it, and traced a circle in the air with her staff, a weightless, red scarf trailing behind. The three dancers caught the fabric in the air and began to weave amongst themselves, dancing with the fabric as if it were extensions of their arms and legs, influencing it to do what they wanted. "And if you are serious then you're also bloody mad."

"Pansy." His hand grasped my elbow, not in a threatening manner, but more to simply catch my attention. "I have never been more serious in my life. This night means everything to me; it should mean everything to you and to everyone else as well. Things will happen, as I have told you, but there are no words in the English language that could emphasize how colossal these events may be. I need to take extra precautions, no matter how asinine they seem."

I cocked my head to the other side but kept my eyes forward. There was a minute pause. "First of all I want you to know that your request is very asinine and if I hadn't considered you a friend then I would never consent to it. And second..." I sighed and closed my eyes, fighting against the grin on my lips. "Who the hell uses the word asinine?"

I felt the coldness from earlier evaporate from Christian and he began tugging excitedly on my elbow. "Come, we haven't much time. She's been down there for fifteen minutes at the--,"

"I never said that I was going to do it."

"Pansy!"

"Did you know that people could extend their leg like that?" I asked, squinting as I watched the gypsies; even though I could see pretty well, there was still much need for my glasses. Christian tugged harder on my elbow.

"Pansy Parkinson!"

"Alright!" I tugged myself out of his grip and rounded on him, although I could not suppress the shadow of a smile from crossing over my features. "God, you're like a whiny little toddler."

He just stared down at me, his face carved from stone but his eyes filled with tenderness. "I'm worried about her," was all he said. I stared at that tenderness in his eyes and suddenly longed to see that kind of caring look at me through stormy grey ones.

I glanced back at the gypsies just in time to see one of the boys catch a spell in his bare hands and weave it into his dance. I faced Christian, sighed, grumbled to him that, after this, he'd owe me his life and then some, and brushed past him out onto the ledge garden. He quickly trailed behind me, closing the glass doors once we were both outside.

"Half an hour and no longer," I said curtly, staring at him. "If you do not bring her back within half an hour I swear that I will leave you both to die out here. It is too cold."

He only grinned, inclining his head in a mixture of respect and mockery. "As the lady wishes."

"So where is this hidden stairwell?" I asked, scanning the glorious garden. He pointed towards my right, to where the darkness had already consumed much of the garden.

"Through those shadows, maybe four paces. The steps lead all the way to the coast, so the journey will be lengthy."

"Then you better get started," I said, faking impatience to hide the chill already settling in my bones. "I started timing you the minute we stepped out here." He grinned again, this time letting the motion reach his eyes, and then turned to the right and ran off, disappearing into the darkness. I stared at the shadows for a minute before walking over to the parapet and gazing down towards the sea where the grassy coast met the torrent of raging waters with jagged rocks and worn stone. I searched for some sort of darker figure amongst the immediate night, but Christian had been right in saying that the castle lights barely reached that far. Honestly, if I could not see them, how could I keep an eye out for their safety?

"Not such a well thought out procedure, Machiavelli," I whispered to the night, looking up at the star-studded sky. "Not your best work."

I stayed watching the scarce array of stars for a little while longer, suddenly wondering about Madame Tsion and where she was at the moment. My hand automatically touched the gem about my throat, and it felt reassuring to the touch. I sighed lightly and closed my eyes, thinking of nothing in particular but wondering about everything in particular. That was when every nerve in my body snapped to attention and I wheeled around at the uneasy feeling of spying eyes on my back. I bore my eyes into the trees and greenery, trying to decipher foe from fern. It was when I caught sight of the pale blond hair and the alabaster skin did I catch my breath painfully and found myself staring, horrified, at my new guest.

I opened my mouth once, twice...three times, but at each time I did nothing but close it again, unable to find words that wouldn't seem idiotic in the situation. I tried averting my eyes to the floor or to the sea, but every time I did I found them straying back to the cool, grey eyes and pointed face once more. I was soaking up the sight of him, memorizing everything about him from his lax posture to the shallow frown lines amongst his face. I was so caught up in him that I did not notice that there was a lack of discomfort in facing him eye to eye once more.

"Hello, Pansy," he said, breaking the silence with his soft tone. He said it calmly and quietly; not awkwardly, but quietly. I felt the hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end when he said my name, and I got a sudden, swift feeling that I wanted to find a reason for him to say it again. But the thought soon left me, and I was not heartbroken at its departure.

"Hi," was the best I could gather at the moment. If I said his name I might have broken the last ounce of composure I owned.

He stepped forward, and I involuntarily stepped back. I tried to mask it, but he saw it; and my heart fell to see the fleeting look of despair in his eyes. So...he was not disguising his emotions. That was something new. "I haven't seen you in...days," he said, his voice sounding normal once more. He was attempting to have a real conversation, and I had to honor him for that. I was simply blubbering inwardly to myself, almost at a loss for words altogether.

"I know," I replied, knowing that it was the most horrendous answer in the known universe. "I know."

"I missed you."

I froze. I had not expected that. I had not expected that level of bluntness.

"..."

He bowed his head slightly at my silence, although it did not have the look of defeat, only the look of being extremely tired. He walked only a step closer then, standing next to the parapet just as myself, resting his hands on the cold stone and leaning slightly into the night wind. I watched him, standing very still and breathing very deeply.

The moon, still hovering over the edge of the water, cast silver shadows onto the ledge, darkening Draco's hollowed cheeks and slim neck. His hair, ever the unblemished, flaxen halo, was tickled by a winter whisper as the clasp he wore on his shoulder gleamed with the reflected moonlight. I followed the trail of his cloak as it drifted on the silent air, allowing me a glimpse of a jeweled scabbard belted at his waist. I brought my gaze away from the artifact and focused on him once again, frowning slightly at the lingering effects of Beula Dormiens that I saw: like how he shifted his weight, favoring the right leg over his left one, or how his right hand was always clenched into a fist, his arm muscles tightened against a pain long dead. Even in the way he held himself, lax lower back and his burdened shoulders, told how he still had sense enough to be presentable but could no longer find the strength to exceed expectations.

He sighed once, and then slowly turned his head towards me, his grey eyes bright and gleaming. They were the same stormy eyes that I had stared into eight years ago, when I was a frightened little seven year old. They were Mr. Malfoy's eyes, but they also weren't. They weren't softer, and they weren't harder. They weren't welcoming, and they weren't menacing. They were just eyes...but they were Draco's eyes.

"Say something," he said.

"I..." My voice sounded raspy to my ears, as if I had not spoken in decades. "I don't know what to say to you." I had never found it easy to talk to Draco, but we had always found a way to communicate decently, without any lingering secrets or innuendos. And over the summer it had been second nature for the both of us to sense the other's reactions and feelings; to be able to speak so fluently about so many matters. And now, after only days of absence, I could hardly string two words together in his presence.

He frowned at me, (or was that the shadowing moon?), and his face quickly adopted the courtier's mask once again. "You don't have to say anything important, I just need you to say something." He spoke frankly and with no more emotion, his words deadpan and his nature solemn. "Say anything."

I stared at him. "What do you--,"

"Just say anything," he repeated, speaking slowly and deliberately, almost as if he were agitated. I stared at him a bit longer, unwilling to look away first; but he had had more practice with staring than I had, so he, of course, won.

"Well," I stalled, countering his glimmer of annoyance with a little more strength in my voice. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nevermind," he said, turning towards the castle and leaning against the parapet. He crossed his arms over his chest and allowed his gaze to wander, but he did not seemed annoyed but merely disappointed.

I wanted to say something; I wanted to talk to him; I wanted to say everything about everything, so that it would all get out of the way at once. But I didn't know how to approach such a concept, so I remained quiet. No longer shy, just quiet. It was almost an irritated quiet.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked me. I was about to say no, but I knew that there would be no point in lying

to him, and he would have already known the answer just by looking at me.

"Yes," I said.

"Would you like to borrow my cloak?"

"No."

And then we were silent again.

_Draco_

It was probably the most excruciating conversation I had ever been involved in. Neither of us could find the right words to set the discussion in motion, and everything that came out of my own mouth seemed dull and simple, as if all those years of finishing lessons were for naught. In fact, my lack of finesse was slowly making me angry.

I stared at the glass windows for a long time, watching the display within grow into epic proportions. The winter weather was growing harsher as the night progressed, and it soon began to invade even the strength of my warrior's cloak. I knew that Pansy must have been suffering greatly at my side, but I also knew that she would never admit it or accept any kind of help from anyone...least of all me. So I did not pursue the thought of offering her my cloak.

On my wrist a white fire burned, the golden chain of the bracelet soaking in the frigid weather. It did not do me much comfort to have it on, but I couldn't find a segue into its appearance and, therefore, could not give it over to Pansy. I was destined to be trapped in idiotic small talk for the rest of eternity.

I glanced at her.

"Why did you wear white?" It was a question I had pondered all night long. I wasn't exactly surprised to see her wearing it, but I was curious.

She shrugged. "Because I wanted to," she replied. I shook my head, finding a subdued meaning in her words.

"No one cares what we want."

She glared at me then, and I knew that I had said more then was spoken. She lifted her chin, set her jaw, and her eyes, blacker than night itself, held a fury in them that seemed out of place. "Well, I thought I might change that," she whispered, and turned her head away from me, looking out over the sea and setting her face into profile.

_Pansy_

It was like dying...slowly and painfully. It hurt to just stand there, let alone talk. The words were so forced, so struggled with, that it made my throat hurt. And that kind of agony began to make me angry.

Then he asked me why I wore white. Somehow, I became annoyed with that. So I was wearing white, big, bloody deal. Everyone needed to get over it and accept it. The constant comments on my dress, whether they be praising or not, were starting to get old fast.

So I told him the truth. I told him that I wore white because I wanted to. Hadn't Madame Tsion asked me what I wanted to wear to the ball, regardless of the dress code?

"Because I wanted to," I said, shrugging. But he seemed to have found a different meaning to what I said, and shook his head silently, looking more like a disappointed parent then anything else.

"No one cares what we want," he told me, and he wasn't lying. No one did care. No one had ever cared. But I didn't like it.

"Well, I thought I might change that," I retorted softly, turning to look at the moon in hopes that it would agree with me. Talking was becoming easier, but the direction the conversation was heading toward was becoming dangerous.

He stepped a little closer then and, this time, I did not shrink away. "You know, you are the hostess of this ball and yet you are the least extravagant." It was a random observation and a rather rude one, if seen in a certain light, and I rolled my eyes in response.

"Thank you so very much," I said as politely as I could, making the comment sound sarcastic when I had only meant to disguise my embarrassment. I glanced at him to see his reaction, and I was oddly elated when I saw a glimmer of annoyance and the beginnings of a scowl. It was the fact that he was reacting in a usual way that made me happy. But he quickly suppressed the response and shrouded his features once more, returning to the awkwardness that our encounter had blossomed. "I'm not patient enough to get fixed up for these kind of things."

"I know," he answered quietly, but I had heard him. He did know. He knew everything about me. "Pansy--," he had started to say, but I had spoken his name at the exact same time.

"Oh, er...I'm sorry, Go ahead."

"No, you first," he said, and cast his eyes down. I frowned. It was probably the only time I had ever seen him look down for someone, but somehow, I did not feel so honored.

I hugged my arms around myself and then crossed them over my chest, too numb to feel the cold anymore but trying to buy myself time. When he flicked his gaze back up at me and I felt the waiting heat of his glare, I cleared my throat and shrugged at him. "Well, I better get back to the ball."

I didn't move. I had no intention to actually leave, even though my sane mind wished it. He must have noticed that my claim was false, for he hardly seemed fazed by my response.

"Right," was his answer, "you are the hostess and you should get back to your guests." He turned his gaze away, muttering the last part with a slight sense of sarcasm and mockery.

I rolled my eyes and laughed quietly. "Key word there is should," I mumbled back, and then I quickly looked up at him as he had done to me. It was a phrase we had used over and over again, whether it be to ourselves or out loud. But it was the lax and casual way we had used it in the past that brought such memories back to us now. I realized that in that split second we had returned to what we had been before.

And I saw in his eyes the same Draco I had spent the past summer with, the past autumn and the beginning of winter. I saw the Draco that I wasn't afraid to confront or speak to, who I treated as a friend and who treated me as an equal. The uncomfortable atmosphere that had surrounded us before seemed to diminish rapidly, and I found in it my moment to end the godforsaken conversation of moronic courtier's small talk and bring claim to the distance between us.

"Pansy, I--,"

"Draco, that night in the corridor, when I saw — when I saw you and Blaise together..." I lifted my chin and tensed my shoulders, "I wanted so much to kill you."

It was a blunt, rather aggressive and incredibly overdramatic response, but it was closer to the truth than most. And he took it without reproaching me for bringing up such an event.

"You wanted to...kill me," he repeated, watching me with carefully lidded eyes. I nodded.

"Yes, I did."

"But you did not want to kill Blaise?"

"No, I did not."

"But you wanted to kill me." He looked up over my head at the stars in the sky.

"In the courtyard, when you spoke to me, I—I wanted nothing more than to reach deep inside of you and snap your heart in two." He winced ever so slightly at the intensity of my quietness, but he kept his eyes on the heavens. "You had done the unthinkable to me, and I wanted you to suffer for it. You destroyed what I had been taught to ignore over the years, more or less, and when I had finally decided to listen to it and to let it reign over my mind, you tore it apart and scattered it at my feet. For that, I wanted you dead."

Do. Not. Look. At. Me. Like. That.

Just shut up, because I know what you're thinking; and frankly, I don't give a shit. I was finally being brutally honest with myself and expressing my _feelings_ with the utmost intensity. I _had_ wanted to kill Draco that night, that was how great my rage had been. The first thing in my mind was the brutal habit that my Death Eater parents and their Death Eater friends had drilled into our minds from the beginning: if you don't like it, kill it. And I really, really didn't like Draco that night.

And I know that Blaise is hanging in the back of your mind somewhere, but you can just toss that little home wrecker out on her arse because she was the last person I wanted to think or talk about.

"Pansy," he started to say, taking yet another step towards me, but I held out a hand to silence him, my heart pumping wildly as if I had been running for hours.

"Wait, I'm not finished. After I left you in the courtyard I had a lot of time to think things over, and I did. I thought about everything every waking hour for a week, and do you know what conclusion I came to?"

"No."

"None. I couldn't even begin to decipher the situation I had put myself in." I walked right up to him, my face inches away from his own and my eyes aflame. "All that I could think or see was you in that corridor...you and—and her in the corridor. The image was always playing for me in my mind's eyes, growing more vivid when I wish it'd go away, repeated itself when I thought that it was over." Red tinged his cheeks but he did not move away from me. "I had never felt something like love, Draco, and I have never felt something like that kind of betrayal. I couldn't handle it! I couldn't deal with it; but it was there. It was there, and it fed my anger." Anger was a dangerous ally we had both been taught to release and let rampage, not to harness and lock in place. Such knowledge allowed Draco to understand my meaning. I breathed in deeply and glared at him. "You broke my heart," I finished quietly.

We stared at each other a long time, oblivious to the closeness between us. I was searching for some flicker of emotion on his face and he seemed to be contemplating his response, carefully shielding his eyes. My entire tirade had left me with a new sensation, one that burned through my entire body and left me in a sweltering heat. It must have been an unbridled anger, having finally voiced what I had been bottling up for weeks. My head swam with dizziness and my vision was blurred slightly along the edges, although it could have been my imagination. I could feel an eruption swelling in my chest and my entire body seemed to tremble with the release of undiluted fury; and the rage only increased as we stared at each other, all my senses suddenly being consumed by his gray eyes...

"Pansy--,"

And then I suddenly found that I had taken his face in my hands and pulled him down to me, doing the exact last thing I could have possibly imagined myself doing at that moment. That kiss seemed to have been the answer to the overwhelming feeling that had claimed me, and I fed my fire into the kiss, finding that I had missed it terribly. Every last ounce of hatred I had felt for him was drained out of me as my fingers cradled his slender neck and his hand steadied me about the waist. I knew that I had surprised him beyond reason, (for I could hardly believe that I done such an act), but I could also feel that he had wanted this just as much as I did, for he did not deny its happening.

But we did not ravage each other.

And we did not attack one another.

And it was not a fierce passion sought upon by the woes of neglect.

It was love. It was the burning awareness called love that I had mistaken for hatred, for I could not stand to be with him yet I would suffer more so without him.

_Draco_

I had actually meant to yell at her. I had meant to respond to her outburst with one of my own; one that I had constructed over the foundations of her accusations and confessions. I had meant to force her to see it my way.

But it had been too long since I had kissed her, so I wasn't about to stop a perfectly — perfectly — good thing.

And, if I were to be so shallow as to actually compare the two, which I'm not, I would have told you that kissing Blaise could not compete with kissing Pansy. Blaise had been lustful and empty; a fire with no warmth. But Pansy's was full and foreboding at the same time; fearful and pleasurable, filled with a meaning behind it.

But somewhere along the flames of love I could feel that she was hurting. It was strange, almost as if having what she wanted, (and let's not forget, what I wanted as well), was somehow tearing her up inside. And in the last lingering traces of the kiss, I was almost certain she was going to cry. She pulled not an inch away from me and she opened her eyes as I did mine. They glistened in the mixture of lamplight and moonlight, but they were not filled with tears.

"Well," I muttered, trying not to smile. "I'm surprised."

She did smile, but it was a mournful one. "So am I," she answered. Her hands slid down over my chest and she rested her forehead on my collarbone, breathing deeply. I barely touched her. I let a few moments of silence pass us by before I spoke again.

"So, are you going to tell me now?" I asked, looking down at the top of her head. She lifted her face to mine, her astonishingly dark eyes saddened in her pale face.

"Tell you what?"

I sighed. "Tell me why you won't come back to me." Because her kiss had not been one of acceptance or forgiveness or resurrection, but one of sorrow and sadness and pain.

She flicked her gaze away and her hands fell from me, hanging limply at her sides. "I'm sorry Dr--,"

"Don't apologize to me," I snapped. I never wanted to hear those words from her. She nodded, and resolved to stare at the ground. She still had not answered my question. "You still haven't answered my question," I said. She shook her head slowly.

"I need to go back to the ball," she said quietly, although not with weakness. There was still strength in her voice and it was hard with an internal anger, but she spoke so softly that I strained to hear her.

"No you don't," I said, bending down to look at her bowed face. I caught her midnight stare in my own and raised her face once more, anchoring it into place as she had done to me only seconds previous. "You did a good job being honest a little while ago. Try doing it again."

Her face turned hard. "Don't tell me what to do," she said defiantly. It was a good sign; it meant that she was acting as she normally would and not changing her stature to accommodate for an awkward position. "You've lost that right."

I cocked an eyebrow to her. "Then why don't you enlighten me to how I lost it in the first place?"

"You insolent bas--,"

"Or, better yet, why don't you tell me why I haven't earned it back yet?" I cut in, knowing that my first line had given her a segue into a heated lecture of my misdoings.

"Just shut up. Why do you always have to ruin a good moment?"

"Was it really all that good?"

"God, I hate you!" she cried, pounding her fist against my chest and turning away. In a way I was glad she had her back to me, because she had hit me very, very hard and I had felt the wind get knocked out of me. "You, your mother, your father...I'm sick of all of you! Why do you three always have to know everything? Why do you always have command over what I say and think and do? My god, it's like some sick, family conspiracy!"

I stared after her a bit, glad that she was not walking away but confused by her actions. This time she _was_ angry. She was expressing real emotions of hatred and vengeance and I could see it in the way her shoulder muscles tensed under the weight and her fingers were splayed in intensity at her sides. I could understand why she would be angry at me, but I could not begin to wonder why she targeted my mother and my father. I mean, given that my father had poisoned her, but this had nothing to do with that in particular, I could tell.

"...and you're just as vague as your mother and father. I actually never thought your mother capable of it, but I was wrong. It's like you can never be straight with the Malfoy name..." She was going on and on, venting her anger in words to suppress it from magic. I had already noticed a slim crack appear in the stone next to us, and I did not wish to see what sort of havoc Pansy caused if she allowed magic to take over.

She suddenly looked at me sharply and I took half a step back, unprepared for the force in her eyes. "You want to know why I won't go back to you?" she hissed. I composed myself quickly and nodded.

"I've been waiting for you to be honest."

Her eyes narrowed. "I hate you," she grumbled, but I shrugged at that.

"No you don't," I told her knowingly, settling my hands into my pockets. She positively fumed.

"You know what? You're right. You've always been right, okay? I don't hate you. But I'm sure as hell coming close to it!" She began pacing around the garden, never straying too far away but always keeping a fair distance between us. Her heels dug into the stone and she had her hands on her head, preventing the winter wind to blow her hair about her face. When she had gathered her thoughts she stopped before me, and her features were very grave. "Truth be told, I won't go back to you because I'm scared."

I blanched. I had not expected that.

"Of what?" I asked ignorantly. "Scared of me?"

"No, you idiot. I'm scared for me. I'm scared of losing you!" She growled, probably because of my slowness in picking up on her hint, even if I did not see one. "I have always had things that I could afford to lose. You know what it was like; we never had to worry about anything, because we always had our rich parents around to come by and make everything better again. I didn't care if I broke something of mine or if someone stole something from me, because I could always ask for another one, a better one. But I can't do that with you!" She pushed me hard in the shoulder, as if it were all my fault. "I can't replace you. And frankly, I didn't think that there would be a time when I needed to. You were always there; even if you didn't feel the same way about me, you were still there. And then after this summer...I depended on you always being there. I never worried about you.

"And then you were taken away from me so quickly and with just one action that it scared me. I had lost you so easily!"

"You didn't lose me! I ran after you!"

"And what? You ran after me with Blaise's scent upon you? No matter what you made yourself think or how I convinced myself it did not happen, it wouldn't change the fact that you kissed her and that she kissed you. And it had been easier than I thought it could be.... And that was what scared me. I had lost you, and I couldn't replace you. And you had broken my heart, and I couldn't just fix it. I had been robbed of priceless possessions. Can you even fathom how scary that was?"

Yes, I could. I had lost a priceless possession the minute she walked out of the courtyard.

"I came back," I retorted, setting my jaw and staring at her. "I want you to come back to me."

She spread her arms to me, glaring at me. "Go back to what? I come back to you until you get taken away from me once more? I don't want to go through that shit again, Draco. It's stupid and I don't want to have deal with it for a second time." She bit off her words one by one, and they slapped me hard in the face.

"Who says it will happen again? It did not happen of my own will the first time, or do you still not believe me?"

"I say that it will happen again because it will happen again!" Her cry wretched the air and it was a wonder that no one attending the ball heard it. "Just like your mother said, everything is about you and it will be for a long, long time. You could be taken away from me again, my heart would break again, and I'd find myself running out into the snow in hopes to freeze to death again. I can't do that anymore, Draco. I don't like being cold!"

I scowled at her, lost by her words. "What are you talking about? You're becoming frightened over nothing! You're talking nonsense."

She laughed bitterly. "So says the terribly uninformed."

"Uninformed about what?" I demanded, but she shook her head vigorously.

"Nevermind. Just...forget I ever said that."

I reached out and grabbed her arm again even though she wasn't moving. It was my way of trying to calm her down. She glared at me coldly and I glared back...and then realized that I had no right to glare and I closed my eyes and sighed. "You know, you take a lot of work Parkinson," I muttered, laughing despite the situation. It was clearly insensitive of me to act thus, but I couldn't help it. It was true, anyway. "A lot of work."

"Then why are you taking it?" she demanded, her voice rising. I looked at her sharply, but it did nothing to lessen her anger. "If it's such hard work, why do you take it upon yourself? You're not one to pursue one subject for so long; you usually get bored. Why now, why me?" Her intensity was frightening, from her cold, deadpan eyes to the rising insanity in her voice. "You want me back, I don't want to go back, and then you're suppose to live and let live! Why do you want me back, Draco? You can have anyone you want, and its only been this summer that you noticed me. Why me, huh? Talk, Draco!"

I took in a deep breath. I may have wanted to yell back, but it wasn't the best way to go about things. So I remained calm, because one of us had to. "Because I love you, Pansy," I said languidly, letting my arm fall and shrugging to her. "It's all because I love you. Merlin help me, I love you."

Then I turned around and walked away.


	23. The Way You Look Tonight

Warning: This chapter contains foul language

Chapter Twenty-three The Way You Look Tonight

_"She's beautiful as usual_

_With bruises on her ego and_

_Her killer instinct tells her to_

_Be aware of evil men_

_And that's what you get for falling again_

_You can never get him out of your head_

_And that's what you get for falling again_

_You can never get him out of your head_

_It's The Way that he makes you cry_

_It's The Way that he's in your mind_

_It's The Way that he makes you fall in love_

_It's The Way that he makes you feel_

_It's The Way that he kisses you_

_It's The Way that he makes you fall in love…" _

_ Pretty Girl (The Way) by Sugarcult_

Blaise walked along the grassy shoreline, shoes in one hand and skirts gathered in the other, the cool winter breeze hardly bothering her in the slightest. She lived farther up north, where the winters were harder and longer and more intense than here in Wales. Here, although snow blanketed the inland, the coast was clear and grassy, warm to the touch and soft underneath her. It was enchanted, of course, and she was grateful. She had no intention of returning to the ball soon, and being alone had been a companion of hers since she was little.

She also knew it wasn't the best idea to go off into the night alone, (for her mother would say it was not befitting a lady), but she had fled the ball for a reason, and, to Blaise, it was a good reason at that.

She quickly brought her hand up to her hair as a gust of wind blew in from the sea. It played across her heated brow in a pleasant dance and she pulled the thin ribbon and pin from her hair so that it would fall freely to her back, snapping like flames in the breeze. But the draft was stronger than she thought, and it snatched the green ribbon from her hand, sending it flying behind her. She turned quickly to grab at it, but it was already far out of her reach. And just when she was about to mourn over the loss of such a pretty thing she saw a strong hand dart out of the surrounding darkness and grasp the ribbon firmly between their fingers.

"You should be more careful," a familiar voice said, and Christian stepped out of the shadows, smiling coldly. "It is too nice of an adornment to lose."

"Christian!" Blaise exclaimed, although it wasn't in fright like she would have anticipated. If anything, it was polite surprise, and she tried to smile back at him in turn. "What are you doing out here?"

He shrugged, walking towards her with his hand outstretched, the green ribbon a thin, peridot slash across his skin. "I could be asking you the same thing. It's a bit cold to be out near the coast."

"Magic takes care of that," she answered, shaking her head nonchalantly. He rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't diminish the chances of falling ill."

"You worry too much." She flashed him a quick grin and spun around quickly, her arms spread wide towards the sky. "It's a wonderful night! I'm having such a wonderful night!"

"Why did you leave the ball?"

Blaise stopped spinning abruptly and looked at Christian from over her shoulder, her lips tight and her heart pounding. It was that famous way where she could switch her moods upon will, going from happy-go-lucky to fuming anger in seconds. Most of the time she used it to make people do what she wanted…and other times she used it simply to cause fear or fright. But for Christian, she used it to mask what she really felt. "You don't need to know that." She looked away from him and began walking again, her hands filled with the skirt of her gown. She didn't have to look back to see if Christian was following; he always did.

"Don't be bitter now," he replied languidly, trailing behind her with his hands folded behind his back. "It was a logical question."

"Stay away," she grumbled, even if she really didn't want him to. "You're too nosy."

"It makes enemies, but it gives me wisdom." He glanced out over the water, catching a glimpse of the glowing moon through the winter clouds: still haunting, still watching, still there. "I've been meaning to talk to you all night, Blaise," he finally said. She slowed her walk to a stop and turned to face him.

"In truth, I've been waiting for you." She moved her hair away from her face so that she could speak to him properly. "You're here about the ring." She said it abruptly and with no forewarning — much like most of her actions.

She thought she saw a flicker of confusion on his face…but no; Christian was rarely ever confused.

"What would give you that idea?"

She did not take his reply to mind; it was far too unexpected to even be real. "Among the many other things that you chatter on so monotonously, oh Lonely One, I've noticed that the ring has always been first and foremost in your thoughts." He scowled at her mockery but did not try to avenge his view. She was right.

"Forgive the lapse of common sense. I meant to say that why would you think I'd ask of it now? According to your convincing speech back in the greenhouses, I am not to be given that ring; ever." His eyes darkened at the vicious memory, recalling the chilliness in the air and the harrowing sensation of defeat within his bones. "So was the contract I was…_asked_…to agree to."

He knew that there was a haunted look in his eyes; anyone could feel its origin bubbling within him, but he did not seem to care. Usually it wasn't in his nature to take joy in scaring Blaise, but after remembering that night in the greenhouses, when she had deliberately dangled the power of the ring in front of him, he knew that there had to be some satisfaction to his rage.

Blaise sighed, unfazed; or at least obtaining the air of being unfazed. "Yes…that." She cleared her throat and reached down the front of her gown, pulling on the thin chain until the ring came out into view. It caught the glistening moon in its sultry depths of garnet and ruby and sprang to life before them there. They both stared at it for a moment, and then Blaise let out a tired sigh. It was a sigh of many meanings, both made of sorrow and relief.

But this time there was much more tiredness than there had been before.

"To be honest, truly honest, I've wanted to talk to you about that." She looked up to see him watching her. She tilted her head to indicate the array of stones lining the grassy coast, and they moved together to sit down. It was bitterly cold, being near the sea when it was the dead of winter, but the enchantments set around the fortress kept the cruelest of the cold out, although it did leave them with very little light, save for the still rising moon.

"Do you know," Christian began, sitting on a large boulder, one leg bent and the other dangling off, "it's been a long time since you've ever wanted to speak honestly to me." He glared at her slightly. "I never thought that it was a part of your vocabulary."

Blaise did not retort. "All right, I guess I deserved that." She tucked her hair behind her ear, only to have it fall back to shroud her face. "I guess I deserve a lot more than that."

Christian did not acknowledge her humble approach, so she dropped it quickly. "But I do agree that it is time we talked." He habitually rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger and leaned back against the large boulder. "Blaise, I want to ask you a question."

"It's a bit tacky to make a dull statement," she commented languidly, although her eyes darted about as if she were nervous. "But go ahead, ask your question."

"Why did you come as Morgause?"

She looked sharply at him. "Excuse me? Are you serious?"

He returned her gaze and shrugged, looking slightly annoyed. "What? Why wouldn't I be? It's a fair question."

"Yes, fair in pointless courtier's talk, but just a bit spontaneous in this moment, Christian." She gathered her hair onto one shoulder to keep the elf knots from her face. "Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me." And then he stopped there. She did not catch the hidden innuendo and he did not feel a need to reveal it to her. It was just a pure symbol to the extent of their honesty with one another.

Blaise smiled, looking up at the castle with glittering eyes. "Well, I chose her for many reasons. She was one of the three legendary Cornwall Sisters, part of the royal line that changed Britain forever. She's a queen in her own right, one of the rare solid woman rulers of her age; she owned Lothian and Orkney. She was beautiful, powerful, and clever." Her eyes shadowed, and she lowered her gaze from Pellinore's castle. "But above all, she was ambitious. An ambitious woman who knew what paths needed to be taken to power."

Christian's blood ran cold. She couldn't have known that she had hit the mark on the head, because her voice betrayed nothing but pure admiration for the Cornish born queen. But in her words she had spoken every trait that she, herself, reflected. The beautiful, powerful Blaise from Scotland, an ambitious girl with a morbid need for authority and power.

"That can't be all," he prodded, speaking carefully and trying to avoid an outburst from her fragile mood. "I know you, Blaise. Certain things about a person intrigue you. One trait stands out to you and makes you want it."

She only shrugged. "Yes, that is true. And if I had to answer to that observation, then I'd say that—that it was her confidence."

"Confidence?"

"Confidence that everything she did was, in her eyes, right." Blaise spoke the words with a definite airiness. It was true that she admired the Lothian Queen, mainly because she lacked in the woman's confidence. Blaise's only support to her devious ways was a thin layer of denial to the real picture. She held no such power of self-esteem, and she knew it well. "She was a powerful woman."

Christian did not respond right away, so when he finally did it surprised Blaise. "So you didn't pick her for any other reasons? Just because you admire her?" He continued to fiddle with the handle of his dagger, tracing the engraved designs across the smooth metal. Blaise watched as his nimble fingers caressed the weapon and she knew that his muscles itched to draw it out.

"Is there another reason?" She watched, slightly tantalized by the bone-white instruments caressing the hilt. It was a deadly weapon, one she had seen when she was a little girl years past. It's edge was always kept sharp and the point gleamed when it sat in its case in Christian's study. For a moment he began to unsheathe the blade, letting the moonlight catch fire to its mercury body. But then he let it go, and it slid back home into its scabbard; such a simple motion, but one that required admiration.

"No," he replied, although his voice sounded strained. "Not unless you see one." He ran a hand through his hair, a habitual motion, and then sat up straighter, his eyes still watching the water. "Blaise, there is something else that I wanted to ask you." He tilted his head towards her and flicked his gaze so that he could watch her from the corner of his eyes. Blaise stared back lethargically, caught in the daze of him. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, and the only other who could compete with him was Malfoy, although his was a beauty harvested in cold confidence and glares. Christian's, however, was purely in his flesh and blood.

"Then why don't you ask?" she answered. But then slight realization flickered in her eyes and she darkened in appearance towards him. "Unless you've come to speak to me about Parkinson." He shrugged guilelessly.

"I take it you don't want to speak about her."

Blaise narrowed her eyes. "Damn right. You must know I hate her and if not, then you are blind as well as arrogant."

"What bitterness do you hold against her, darling? You were not like this before this year. Before, you treated her as an ally, an accomplice, as a friend. What is it about her that makes you despise her existence so suddenly?"

A look of contempt crossed her features then, almost transforming her beautiful face into a grotesque scowl. "That is something I would rather not like to tell you."

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Well, for starters, you two seem to have become much closer," she hissed, the jealousy in her voice hard to overlook. "I wouldn't want Pansy to have a leg up on me now would I?"

Christian did not falter. "I will not deny that I have grown fond of Parkinson, but it does not change the fact that you eclipse her any day." He did not acknowledge the sudden glance she shot at him, although he could feel her dazzling green eyes on his skin. "Don't think that my loyalties have changed."

She heard his words, mentally denied them, but knew deep down that they were sincere. Christian, above all people, could be the most subtly malicious and cruel…and yet the most faithful and loyal. If she were to ever confide her secrets into someone the most logical choice would be him. "Your loyalties may not have changed," she started, "but that doesn't mean that you haven't gained new ones."

He almost grinned. "If you'd like to put it like that then, by all means, go on ahead." He flashed her a look before staring back into the moonlit sea. "Why do you hate Pansy so much?"

A wind swept across the coast and tore easily at the grassy edge. Magic stripped it of it's cold demeanor, but it did not diminish its brutal hand. It sent Blaise's garnet tresses to snap wildly about her face. With a growl of frustration Blaise reached out and snatched her ribbon from Christian's belt where he had tucked it in to keep it safe. She gathered her unruly hair into a swirling mass of crimson before vigorously winding the ribbon around it, shouting over the wind all the while.

"The reason I hate Parkinson so much is all her fault. She's the one who made me her enemy, not me!"

"How so?"

"Because! Because this past summer she changed her value!"

"Her value in what?"

"In status! Before she was nothing but a wealthy heiress to a respected Dark Arts family. That made her value as a friend a necessity. Her position, however, did not threaten my climb to power! And then she had that fall out of her infatuation with Malfoy. I thought it was the greatest thing that could have ever happened! Parkinson was going to let her crush die and, with it, her motives to become the right hand to the Malfoy power and to Malfoy himself. God, do you realize what kind opportunity was offered to me then?

"I was ecstatic…ecstatic, at least, until that bloody dinner party at the Malfoy Manor when I found out that Draco held the same feelings for Parkinson as she had for him. That was a blow I struggled to overcome. Just when I thought my road to power was cleared I was given the largest detour possible. Through my outrage Parkinson became my rival for the heart and title of Draco Malfoy. And to think I could ever compete with that girl! She's a pug-nosed, plain, stick of a thing who's marks in school couldn't even qualify her to be a Squib! And yet he was so attached to her! Her, of all people! The very girl he had been ignoring for the past seven or eight years! The unfairness of it was uncanny! That I had spent so much time contemplating my path to be in his good favor and then to be usurped outrageously by Pansy infuriated me the most."

She tied the ribbon into a third knot and glared at Christian with a rage stimulated by the passion of her words. "I hate her because of everything."

_Pansy_

_"I simply request this: you promise me your soul, the one thing in your world that keeps you alive and has its own sacred throne in your heart, and I generate the spell you want. All it takes is a simple word…Let's just call this an insurance policy. If you or Draco are ever disloyal to me or the Dark Lord, than you pay the price for both. Though I doubt you will betray us, based on your current nature. You seem to play yourself as a very loyal person."_

_"It controls your thoughts so you will always think of him. It controls your heart so you will always long for him. It controls your body so you will always desire him. When you are apart from him it will tear you to shreds. When you look at him it will make you ill and weak so there is never a moment's silence for you. It is not until you have made your peace with him will the enchantment let you be. You are bound to him, and will be so forever."_

"_Somehow I have this feeling that there's something more behind this…"_

_"Why is everything always about my son?" _

_"Why can't the world just leave him alone?"_

In my mind I could still hear the voices of the Malfoy family, each one hiding behind a different veil of mystery, concern, and darkness. And with each one came the mounting dread that something horrible might happen, and that something horrible would more than likely happen to Draco.

But what was even worse was that all the signs were pointing at me as the cause for such horrors. I was named as the dreaded harbinger. It was something that I couldn't live with, and if being with Draco aided the horrors to come, then so be it.

I would have to break off my ties with Draco.

But I couldn't break them off knowing that he did not know it was out of love for him.

"Draco," I said, although it came out a tiny whisper. The anger I had used seconds ago had evaporated in the instant that Draco had spoken and was swiftly replaced with the echoing voices and a deep chasm of regret. "Draco, wait, I'm sorry…"

"No," he answered, raising a hand over his shoulder to silence me. He was walking away, back into the darkness of the garden that he had come out of. The lightness in his voice was unnerving, and did not suite him at all. "Please Pansy, don't apologize for anything. I've realized I've said all that I could say, and now…now…" He shook his head and shrugged, but kept on walking. Instantly the feelings of sickness returned to me, and with every step that took him farther away from me the nausea increased.

"Draco, come back."

"No, I have to go."

I gathered my skirts in my hands and started to follow him, keeping my distance. Slowly the illness began to wane. "You don't understand why I' m doing this."

He laughed as he passed under the cherry blossom trees. "Pansy, I don't understand why you do anything! I never have."

"There are reasons, Draco. But they're reasons that I can't…I can't tell you about. But you have to understand."

"We both need to get to the ball. We'll be missed." He was following the path in long, although lazy, strides. "You're mother will be wondering where you disappeared to."

_"But I bet you I'm not permitted to mention any of this to Draco."_

_"And that's one more for the Parkinson Intelligence Department."_

"Draco, please."

"You're going to get sick out here, Pansy." He said his words through clenched teeth, his arm roughly brushing a stray rose branch to the side. "You better get inside."

"You think I'm doing this out of anger."

"I think you're doing this to annoy me."

I made my steps wider and began to close the distance between us. "I'm not. I know I said I was afraid before, but there are other things. Things that I can't tell you about."

"Just shut up, Parkinson."

"God, Draco," I sighed, fighting the urge to groan. "You don't understand."

He stopped so suddenly that I almost ran into him, but he had quickly spun on his heel and I could soon feel his hands clamped tightly on my arms, the face leaning into mine being one of the utmost disgust and frustration. "Is that such a bloody surprise, Pansy! How could anyone understand you? You're telling me things that wouldn't make sense in any other case. I have degraded myself enough on your behalf; I have bared my soul and you rejected it, so now I'm finished with the game of cat and mouse. I won't chase you anymore, since that's obviously what you want."

I stared into his eyes, willing myself not to shake. "Draco, I love you."

Christian reached forward and pulled Blaise's hand from her hair where she was making a mess of her curls and elf knots. Her frustration had vented not only into her words but into her actions as well, and Blaise could always lose herself in her emotions.

"Everything about her," she huffed, allowing Christian to calm her, "it just seems unfair that the world is somehow bowing to her. Everything is going right for her. She's done nothing to deserve it; nothing to deserve Malfoy." She narrowed her eyes in envy. "Hers is too easy a life."

Christian dropped her hand then, retreating back into his own space as he cringed at the firebrand's words. "You speak too lightly," he told her. "You're painting yourself a picture that you want to see."

Blaise's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "You've been blinded by the sun, Christian."

He shook his head. "Not so much as you'd like to pretend. You see the surface of everything, my dear, yet you haven't the foggiest to what lies beneath. You judge Pansy on her appearance of maintaining a calm exterior, while ignoring the inclination of troubles within. You've heard the stories of what happened this past summer between her and Malfoy. You've seen the trials she's had to overcome since then. And, let's not forget, she's had us to deal with, and we're a right pairing to stir up mischief." He stood up then, gazing out into the open sea. "Pansy has seen her share of the fighting, and it isn't going to be over any time soon. I would think you a fool to envy her life at all."

He knew the look on Blaise's face without even looking at her. Her eyes would be green flames, a fiercer, bolder emerald than Potter's; her cheeks, already red from her rising temper, would tint her golden skin from rose to ruby, accenting her clenching jaw. Were she tuned into the elements, her hair would be whipping and snapping about her face with the ferocity of serpents while her delicate, perfectly shaped hands would clench tightly into fists at her side. It was a look Christian had become well acquainted with over the years.

"You dare call me a fool for seeing what is plain as day?" she snapped, her voice high-pitched and irritated. "You've some nerve, Christian. You throw Parkinson at me like she's some sort of moral role model, hoping that her 'hard times' and 'right judgment' will rub off on me. You talk about her as if she's some great heroine who survived a horrible ordeal! She's just another girl in this war-torn world, Christian: no different than the thirty-odd billion others walking this earth. We've all got our problems and yet you constantly praise her for hers."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're laying it on a bit thick there, aren't you? Everyone's life isn't a melodrama."

She fumed. "Don't assume unless you've known."

"She almost died, Blaise! Her own father had to stand aside to allow his daughter to be at the mercy of Lucius Malfoy. She was in a coma for God's sake! These aren't mediocre problems and they're not melodramatic complexes…she's been through life! She's had real pain! It's not like the world has smiled down on her and showered her with blessings!"

"What are you, the Parkinson spokesperson of Heroic Triumphs! So she's had some rough times, it's nothing worth worshipping her for!" She jumped to her feet in indignation, yelling in absolute fury. "If anything, she's been luckier than most!"

Christian stood as well, although his was a temper under better control and his tone, already much louder than usual, was a whisper compared to Blaise. "You've blinded yourself, Blaise! You're bias has gotten the better of your opinions."

"I suffer for everything she has been given and is allowed to give!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Pansy _has _been showered with blessings! She's been given the one blessing I can never have!"

Christian was nearly appalled. "Which is what!"

"That she is allowed to love the man she chooses!"

"So you're jealous because she loves Malfoy?"

"No--,"

"Or are you jealous because she got to him first?"

"No! I'm jealous that she can love at all! That she can love the man she gave her heart to!" Tears were in her eyes now, dripping down her face in glistening streaks, but she ignored them. Christian, however, was left in confusion to Blaise's roaring tirade.

"So you admit that you are jealous?"

"Yes!"

"Of Pansy and Malfoy?"

"Yes…no!"

Christian growled. "Then what!"

"Of Pansy…and because of you!"

"Of me! What—of me and Pansy?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Because you liked her…and she liked you."

Christian's face darkened. "So you didn't want anyone coming near your slave?"

"No, not that!"

"You're mad at the fact that she liked me at all."

"That she could show it!

"For God's sake, what are you talking about! Why are you so jealous of Pansy! Why the hell do you suffer, Blaise!"

"I SUFFER FROM THE FACT THAT SHE IS ALLOWED TO LOVE YOU AND I'M NOT!"

Blaise clapped her hands to her mouth as she stared at Christian in wide-eyed horror, the tears falling freely from her eyes. The wind continued to whip about the both of them, disregarding their angered yells and screams. It played with the silken skirt of Blaise's dress and danced around the frozen form of Christian, his piercing eyes unblinking and a look of utter horror and cruel realization painted across his face.

_Pansy_

He scoffed cruelly at me and let me go, turning his head away in solid disbelief. "Like those aren't the easiest words to come out of your mouth."

"Draco, really. I need you to know that, and if you believe nothing else I say, then at least believe that."

He just stood there, his body in profile, staring at his feet with his hands holding strongly onto his belt. The wind was blowing still, rustling the greenery around us, and it only added to the cold air already forming between us. "Pansy," he started, passing a hand over his eyes and keeping them averted from my face, "I can't do what you ask of me." He shook his head. "I can't listen to you because the things you are saying aren't making much sense." He ended his sentence abruptly and in a fleeting moment he looked back at me, no pleading in his eyes but, instead, a projectile daring that gave it's question without his saying a word. I heard this question, and it tore ruggedly at me to give him my answer.

"No, Draco. I will not go back to you."

He did not sigh or look away, and there was no hint of sorrow or pain behind his features. Instead, he reacted with an air of defiance, as if I had helped prove his point in a futile argument. "And it is because you don't trust me after what happened with Blaise, is that it?"

I felt something break deep within my heart and I knew that that kind of betrayal would never leave me. "You will never realize how much pain you caused me, Draco. You couldn't possibly know. But that isn't the only reason."

I saw a flicker of guilt shadow his face. "You act as if you've gotten past all that. You seem so together when I see you."

"And yet I'm broken up inside."

"Then it is because you're afraid you will be hurt again."

I continued shaking my head. "Yes, in a way. And yet, no. Not because of that." I tightened my hold on my skirts, the fabric twisting beneath my fingers. In some unknown way, it was comforting to me. And as I kept my eyes trained with Draco's I could see the old Malfoy heir returning, donning the crude armor of superiority and an emotionless atmosphere. He was angry, and since he, too, was trained to spend his anger and not hoard it, he fed it into the intense glare of his eyes and the increasing white of his clenching knuckles.

"Are you done?" he asked blandly. "There's a ball I'd much rather return to."

I bit back a retort of anger and forced myself to answer civilly. "The ball can wait. This can't."

He titled his head. "What more is there that we could possibly say to each other, Pansy? We'd be running in circles, passing the same problems with no solutions. And as you just pointed out, I'm not one to dwell on a single thing for so long."

Like the fool that I was, I had not seen that one coming. I squeezed my eyes shut against the complications of everything and stole a deep breath.

_"Because I love you! I still love you and I will always love you! Even after all that you've done to me: ignoring me, scorning me, treating me as just another minion to wait on your every whim; using me as a way to escape your own self-hatred and pitiful anger. And even through that time when I felt nothing for you, nothing but an endless void of space, I knew that there would be a day when that void would be filled once again with a love that I wish I never had! But when you saved me from the Lotus and I woke up only to find myself in your arms, I knew I could never change. I'd love you and cherish you and bless you for the rest of my life; and it would either be my rise or my downfall…And now I can't lose you, because I might lose myself…"_

_"You have a strange talent, Pan, for always being wrong."_

_"We're not people of love, Pansy; we never have been, and probably will never be. We have too many expectations to live up to. But we cannot deny human nature, and human nature strives for happiness in one other human being. We're just like everyone else…we want love. But we don't know how to find it. You two did. We saw…we saw hope for us in you two. But of course, none of us wanted to admit it…"_

I pressed the heel of my palm against my forehead, trying to suppress the voices in my head. In a sudden rush they were coming back to me, every last conversation I had since the end of last year. It was a murderous process, listening as familiar words and voices resurfaced, reminding me and haunting me; helping me and hurting me. I could feel the emotions embedded into each one…the explosion of anger in my rant filled with an unworthy Malfoy bloodlust…the bitter sarcasm of Millie's truthful observations…her sentimentality towards me and my situation.

A gasp escaped me. It felt much too real.

Blaise turned away from him sharply, her hands still clamped over her mouth as her mind raced against time and her actions. _I didn't say that,_ she thought to herself frantically. _I didn't say that to him. I made it up…it was a dream…I was lying…it never happened._ Her heart would not stop pounding against her chest.

Christian could hardly move. The anger he had felt had instantly evaporated and left him with a bland, numb feeling of disbelief. He couldn't have possibly heard right…because if he had, then that would mean that Blaise…

"Christian." The whisper had been so faint that he might not have heard it, were he not always alert for the sound of her voice. He pulled himself from his shock to focus on her trembling back and shoulders as she lowered her hands but refused to turn back around to him. "Christian…go away."

He simply stared. "What?" Any articulation that he had once mastered had left him now, abandoning him to a pathetic lack of comprehension.

"I need you to go away," she repeated. She was glad he could not see her face, could not see how much the struggle to erase what she said was challenging her. The tears she was able to cease, but the trembling in her body was beyond her power. She ruggedly swiped the streaks from her eyes, coughing occasionally in result of her tirade. "Go. Now." She was near desperate, bordering on the edge of hysteria. If he would not leave…

He did not move. "Blaise, you just said--,"

"I said get the fuck out of here!" She rounded on him in a second, her cry breaking the awkward stillness. "I don't want you here! I didn't ask you to come! Go back to the fucking ball and leave me alone!" He was horrified and confused, but she didn't care. She was counting on those factors; they would distract him from her mistake, and they would hopefully help chase him away.

"I'm not going back to the ball."

"I don't want you here, do you understand that?"

He stepped closer to her, somber. "No, I don't understand that because you're lying. You can't undo what you said, Blaise."

_I didn't say anything. You're lying…it was a dream. I didn't mean it._

But she did mean it.

"I said go away!" She quickly bunched her skirts in her hands and started running back up the beach, back towards the castle.

She knew without looking that Christian was following her.

"Stop running!"

"No!"

"You're being childish!"

"Does it really look like I care?"

His hand shot out and grasped her arm, halting her abruptly and spinning her about so she could face him. He was breathless from the running but his eyes, solemn and persistent, looked unfazed. "Do you still love me?" He had asked the forbidden question; he had crossed the invisible line.

_I crossed it before he did,_ her mind told her bitterly. _I said it first._

"We're cousins Christian, I'm not allowed to love you."

"But do you still love me?"

She yanked out of his grip but he pulled her back with both hands, locking her arms to her sides. But instead of submitting to his strength she fought against it, unwilling to explain herself. "Get your hands off me!"

"Then you'll run."

"State the obvious."

"Blaise!"

She wrenched her arms free, throwing him back as she stumbled away. "Don't 'Blaise' me! I don't have to listen to you, Christian, but _you_ have to listen to _me_. And I want you to go away."

He narrowed his eyes at her, irritated. "You don't want me to go away."

"Yes I do! Why do you think I came out here in the first place? It's winter! I didn't come out here to enjoy the night sky and a quiet stroll along the coast, but I had to leave the ball."

"Why?"

"Because you were there. I hate you; I can't stand to be in the same room as you. You're horrible and obsessive and revolting. Now leave. You make me sick."

Christian, unfazed and unaffected by her insults, didn't go anywhere. "Stop, please," he answered monotonously and detached. "You're hurting my feelings."

"Why aren't you listening to me!" she screeched, practically ripping her hair out. She yanked at the chain around her neck until it snapped into her hand, the garnet ring dangling from her fist. "Goddamnit, doesn't this fucking thing work!" She glared at him, fire in her eyes. "I hate this bloody ring."

There was a distant way that she had said it, like a suppressed anger that suddenly resurfaced from its dormant state. A boiling rage focused on one single thing so that its sharp edge had blunted down, but it was still lethal, and it still could cut. Christian heard it, but he could not understand it.

"You don't hate that ring," he said quietly. "You delight in its power."

"I SAID I HATE IT!"

A huge, frigid wave crashed against the beach, shattering into droplets eight feet in the air. It sprinkled around them, blanketing them in a salty cloak. Luckily the enchantments kept them warm, but hardly dry.

"Blaise!" Christian was almost soaked through, water dripping from his face. He ran a hand through his hair to keep the sopping tendrils from his eyes as he scolded her. "You have to watch yourself! You can't let your magic get out of hand like that!"

She laughed bitterly, brandishing the ring with the same brutality of a bounty hunter's spoils. "Are you actually warning _me_ about magic, cousin dearest!" she said, spitting the words. "That's irony! Warning me when you threw your magic around to create this!" She shook the necklace in front of me. "What could you have possibly been thinking when you made it? You didn't think I would use it or take advantage of it?"

"I didn't think you were that cold-hearted!"

Blaise bit back a retort at the change in his demeanor. He had gone pale and livid, spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled at her. He had even gone as far as to take his dagger in hand, half withdrawing it from its sheath. It was muscle memory that made him do it, she knew, but it was frightening all the same. Blaise had seen Christian train with daggers and hand-to-hand combat when he went back home, and there was dangerous power in his skill.

"I didn't think you could be that mean." He took a deep breath to calm himself, shrinking away from her. He quickly put away his dagger without looking at it before taking his cloak and quickly drying his face and hair. "Because, honestly, what eleven year old girl decides to enslave her twelve year old cousin?"

"The same girl who was given the responsibility of another human life at the very age of eleven!" He dropped the cloak to look at her. Her retort didn't sound the way he expected. He had prepared his rebuttal to counter bitterness and sarcasm, not desperation.

"What did you say?"

She shook her head at him. "You mean you never considered this? Chris, you handed me this ring and told me it was your heart and you expected me to swoon and coddle you and love you forever!"

He grimaced slightly. "N-no."

"Oh, God! Think, Chris, what if I forgot it? Or lost it? Or dropped it? What if I broke it!" Christian's face went pale. "What if anything happened to it? Well, whatever happened would happen to you. I—I didn't know what it would do to you. I didn't know if it would affect you or hurt you or…or kill you." She took a shuddering breath. "It was all I could think about those two days after the ball. I would sit there, cradling it in my hands, making sure not even my breath touched it. I was so terrified."

She was staring at the ring in her fist, reminiscing in its glittering beauty. They were horrible memories for her, encompassed around a gorgeous jewel, beginning around a familiar stranger.

"You didn't seem terrified when I came back for it."

Blaise broke her trance and flicked her gaze back up to meet his. "No, I didn't show you how terrified I was. Truth be told, I was not terrified when you came to me. I was angry."

"At who?"

"At you."

"For the ring."

"For the damn ring."

"What do you think I was, Blaise? Happy!" he cried. He tore at his collar, the buttons flying all about and revealing the thin, black shirt underneath as he pounded on his heart. "My flesh, Blaise. That was my flesh you wouldn't give back to me, my affection. You dangled it before me in some sick game before pulling it back out--,"

"Oh, I play the sick games! What about you, Christian? What sick game were you playing, attempting something as dangerous as Straeh Cinesra? Only an idiot boy with an ego the size of Windsor would do something that half-assed…"

"That was out of love…!"

"That was out of idiocy! Love can be shown in other ways; other, less insulting ways."

"There can't be any greater insult, or humiliation than enslavement to a little girl."

She strode right up to him and pulled back her arm, smashing her fist into the side of his face. Tears were pouring from her blazing eyes. "I love you," she shrieked as his hand shot out to grab the offending arm and stop himself from landing face first into the sand. "I love you, Christian! Mine was a love no eleven year old should ever feel! But I didn't need a fucking ring to show it; I didn't have to force my feelings into an object to express them! I didn't have to make you feel like a slave driver to understand!"

Bent over double, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth, Christian listened aghast. He turned his head to glance up at her, his hand holding tight to her wrist. She was looking down at him, steady tears streaming down her face. "Your love wasn't real." She held out the ring for him to see. "It was artificial."

_Pansy_

"Pansy! Are you okay?" There were fingers clamped around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. Their strength settled me when I had not even realized I was cowering and shaking against the tide of emotions within myself. My eyes were burning and the slight blur I had harvested since the outcomes of Beula Dormiens intensified, leaving Draco's pale face to drop in and out of focus in front of me. "Look at me Pansy," he was saying, speaking to me in a loud, even voice. "Focus."

I stared squarely into his eyes until the dizzying feeling subsided. "Whoa," I breathed, pulling in the night air. I coughed and sucked it in again, using the stabbing cold to break through the confusion. "What just happened?"

"I don't know," Draco answered. "It looked like you were panicking."

"I should be, but I'm not." I shook my head to clear it. "I feel…sick." My knees suddenly buckled and I wobbled dangerously. But Draco held on tight, and I was soon leaning heavily against him to remain standing.

"What is that?"

I looked up at him, confused. "What's what?"

He pointed to my neck and my hand automatically rested on the gem Madame Tsion had given me. I picked it up and looked down at it. The stone was still clear as ice, but there was a definite glow to it now, more than just firelight…more than just moonlight…

"It never did that before." I moved it around, the thong sliding across my neck as I swayed it from right to left. As I pulled it farther away from myself the light got dimmer, but when I let it go to rest on my color the glow brightened and blazed. "It's like…like it's looking for something. Or getting close to something." I continued to stare at the glowing jewel, gazing long enough for my eyes to blur slightly. I blinked my eyes rapidly; sight still hurt me, but I refused to wear my glasses simply out of spite for them. But it doing so I subjugated myself to dizziness, demonstrating the cruel toll of being fashionable.

I swayed a little as I looked up. "I feel sick. Oh…sorry." The hem of my gown had snagged onto the tip of his scabbard and I gripped his wrist to keep myself from falling. I felt a cool, thin metal beneath my fingers and I lifted his sleeve to reveal a bracelet hanging around his wrist. "What's this?" I asked, pulling his arm out towards the moonlight. Draco tried to recoil.

"Stop. It's nothing." He started to pull away but I wouldn't let go. And even in his anger he would not push me.

I uncovered a beautifully crafted chain bracelet of gold suspending a subtle snowflake charm. It was fine and thin as lace, glittering with its delicacy from the astral beams and flickering chandelier lights from the ballroom. It seemed out of place among Draco's black folds, and I wondered what he was doing wearing a woman's jewelry.

"What's this?" I prodded, holding the charm in my fingers. Draco tried to pull his arm back but I held on, and he hadn't put much effort into it. "Surely it can't be yours."

"It's not. I'm holding it for someone." I felt a rustling in my hair and I made the mistake of looking up to find myself inches away from Draco's face. Either he had moved in on his own accord or I had unconsciously pulled him closer to me. Whatever the reason, I found that I was somehow glad for it. Draco, however, was harder to decipher, as always. He seemed bland to the situation. "I thought that I might give it to them tonight."

I dropped his hand as though it were made of fire. "Draco Malfoy, if people knew or saw or even found out how much I love you it would be…I wouldn't be able to — there would be…I'd feel terrible…" I knew I was stumbling over my words because of Lucius' binding spell; it was preventing me from saying anything that would indicate or jeopardize our agreement. I sighed and closed my eyes for a minute, feeling, for a moment, like my old self: sarcastic, bitter, and frustrated at the world and all it's idiocy. When I opened them again I saw Draco staring at me, waiting.

"You were saying?" He prodded.

"You hate me don't you?" It was the spite gilding his face that made the statement come out. I didn't like that I had put it there.

He stalled for a minute. "I don't hate you…but I'm thoroughly upset." When I did not answer he shrugged suddenly and pulled his sleeve back up, revealing the bracelet once again. With a fluid motion he unclasped it and held it out to me. "This belongs to you," he told me. I stared at it.

"I can't accept something like that."

"I'm not asking you to accept it. It's yours…you're obligated to take it."

"I'm in no position to take something this valuable from you."

"Give me your wrist."

I never really liked my wrists. To me they were thin and fragile, hardly strong enough to flaunt the jewels and adornments girls my age usually wore. I held no authority in them as opposed to people like my mother, who's simple flicks of the hand and turn of the wrist could send people off doing her will. But now, as I held out my exposed arm to Draco without protest, I watched as he slipped the chain around my hand, locking it together and settling it at the base of my arm. And then I saw the transformation the charm made, making my small, sickly wrist look grand and elegant.

"A snowflake," I whispered, watching it dance on its single link.

"Appropriately made. It signifies the day we first met and the day when you, Pansy Parkinson, turned down me, Draco Malfoy." He cuffed my chin gently with his finger so I'd look up at him. "After this moment, you become nothing to me," he said. "That is what you have done here and that is what you have made yourself to be."

His words stung, but they were true…and I agreed. "And likewise, you are nothing to me." He nodded with all sincerity.

"But you must never take the bracelet off," he warned, holding my wrist in his hand. "It cost a bloody fortune."

Now that I recall the moment, I realize that I should have noticed the warnings surrounding us. The fairies had long since disappeared from the trees, leaving behind their ghostly after image. The wind, once howling outside the magical wards set around the castle, now sat dead in the night, silent and stealthy, waiting. The ocean waves, whose crash against the coastal rocks became the subtle music of the evening, were now quiet. Even the moon, itself, seemed to dim.

The earth had settled for what was to come next, and yet no one even saw the warning and acknowledged its presence.

"It's because of who we are, Draco; it's because we were born into our blood of riches and wealth that we cannot afford to love."

He looked at me, embraced me in his arms. "I know," was all he said before he bent down and placed his lips on mine. It was not a kiss of goodbye, but one of love. The tenderness he showed me then surprised me and almost made me second guess his decision. But I knew that when it ended the feeling would be gone, and Draco would turn his back to me and return to the ball, and we would ignore each other until the moment that he went back home, and we'd spend the rest of the winter break forgetting everything that had passed between us.

But that moment never came, and what did come was far worse.

Christian straightened up and used the sleeve of his other arm to wipe the blood away. He never let go of Blaise. "It wasn't artificial," he said, feeling the pain erupt in his mouth as he did so. He turned his head to spit out the blood and then rubbed his jaw. It was the second beating his jaw had gotten, and it was a pungent humor that he suddenly realized girls could be damn nasty fighters. "There's nothing artificial about it."

She did not flinch. "Prove it."

"Prove what?" he flexed his jaw and rubbed it before spitting out a mouthful of blood again. "Prove that my love is real?"

"Prove that you love me at all!" She shook the necklace in front of his face. "This forces an obedience to the heart, Christian, it does not allow for freedom of choice!"

"It was my freedom to create it."

"And what does that tell me!" She snatched her hand back, breaking his grip on her wrist. "That the only way for you to love me was through a ring? That the only relationship I could have with you is the same between a master and her slave?" She stole a quick breath. "That's hardly love."

"I didn't…" He loosened his mouth. "I didn't ask you to take advantage of its power. You did that on your own."

She rolled her eyes in morose sarcasm. "Revenge, Christian. It was revenge to your lack of emotion."

He couldn't understand it. After all that he had done for her, all the suffering he had wasted on her, she still had the audacity to think he couldn't be true. When it could have been so clear to anyone else…when it _was_ clear to everyone else. There was a burning anger behind his eyes at this concept compared to the accusations made previously by Blaise. Was she truly blind? Couldn't she tell that he spoke her name on the rarest of circumstances, and when he did it was with the utmost respect and compassion? And there were the countless times when he had done everything for her, uncomplaining, silent, obedient…just like a silent lover…or a servant…

_…or a slave…_

But it had been out of love! Pansy had seen it in his face; Bulstrode had known it since it began; and he had even realized it when he thought he could fight the unrelenting feeling. There would be no one else for him but the girl he was not allowed to love. There was a bond between them, a chain that would forever link him to her. They were inseparable; they were but half a person without the other…it was a bond created out of years of understanding and the deepest recesses of love…

…_or the strongest forms of magic…_

"All this time has passed and you never knew?" He focused his eyes back onto her face, now shadowed with regret. "You never knew that I loved you?"

He opened his arms in surrender. "Can you blame me? You never gave me a chance to find out."

She sighed, looking down at the necklace still clenched in her fist. "I was so angry…I haven't taken the time to think about much other than my revenge." She lifted her face and held out her hand. "I told you I hated this ring." She shrugged and waited as Christian stared at her unmoving hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago." She pushed her hand closer to him. He did nothing.

"You're giving it back to me?" She nodded. "Now?" She nodded again. He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Why? There were millions of reasons why running through Blaise's head. Because she couldn't stand the pressure anymore; because she couldn't stand _him_ anymore; because she would be free of his love; because she wanted to forget ever loving him in the first place; because she was weak and she couldn't handle it; because she was angry; because it was dangerous; because she relished its power; because there was nothing left to do…

…but more so, because she was scared. Scared for the fact that she would one day break his heart, both in the liberal and hypothetical sense. That she'd destroy him…that she'd already destroyed him…and more so, because she was scared that she loved him far too much.

"Because," she started, staring at the ring instead of his vibrant, blue eyes, "because I don't need it anymore."

"You don't need it?"

She sighed and nodded. She took the clasps of the chains in both hands and moved towards him. He stilled his breath as she approached. "I don't want it anymore, Christian. It's caused too many problems and it's too powerful. I'm giving it back."

Coming to her after the ball, bartering for it with a deal, begging for it in the greenhouses, losing it over a fight…so much had gone into the fight for its possession and she was offering it to him now without anything other than empty words. "So easily," he replied stiffly.

"Overdue," she retorted. "Long overdue." She raised the necklace towards him, the garnet stone beginning to pulsate with its inner light. "Like I said, I don't want it anymore. I don't need it."

"What's your reasoning?"

The light was a soft rose, growing in intensity as she came closer to him. Something was growing in his heart; a hole expanding to obtain the weight the ring had taken away…a hole that had been emptied years before, when he was but a twelve-year-old boy who had attempted a very foolish spell.

"There is none," she told him, completely truthful. She found that the ring brought a grotesque feeling in her stomach. After his confession of love, Blaise wanted nothing to do with Christian. Not only was it a sick and twisted concept, her loving her own cousin, but it was a bond that would surely lead to something either very dangerous or very much out of line, and Blaise could not be involved in either.

She loved him, and that was wrong.

Keeping the ring would keep him bound to her, and that was risky.

The deal was off. She didn't care about Malfoy anymore. Draco had the power, the influence, and the mind her ambition hungered for, but Christian was the one she had fallen in love with. She did not even want Malfoy anymore. She suddenly pitied Parkinson for stealing him away from her.

"The ring isn't real anyway," she answered quietly. "It's manufactured affection." She slipped the chain around his neck. The necklace blazed with a fiery red light, burning both their eyes, causing them to squint in protection. The waves on the coast crashed with a new, invigorated vengeance in response to the magic. "And I'm giving it to you."

The light immediately died away, sucking the luminescence that it had cast upon the coast back within its glossy confines. A strange feeling came over Christian, ripping his attention away from Blaise. It was the sweet relief of a lost weight returned while not completely offering itself back into his body. It was like a burden had been lifted from his aching, stiff shoulders, but placed, instead, into his waiting arms, strong and fresh enough to carry it. His power to love had been returned to his possession, but it was still confined into the ring and still detached from his heart.

"Is it done?" Blaise asked. Christian wasn't looking at her, but instead, was staring at the ground, one hand resting over the ring hanging from his neck. "Is the spell broken?"

"I-I don't know. How would we really know?"

She shrugged. "Do you still love me?"

He frowned, stepping away from her. "I love you regardless of the ring--,"

"You can't say that because I don't know that. The ring has always been there."

Christian's tension was growing high, and his frustration over her lack of understanding was breaking his heart. Nothing seemed to satisfy her. Nothing could convince her of how much he loved her. As long as the ring existed, she would believe in nothing but its power. As long as the ring existed…

"I'm tired of beating around the bush." He gripped the ring in his fist and yanked it clean from his neck. The clasped snapped and Blaise jumped.

"Be careful…"

"You don't think I really loved you because of this ring? Fine. A problem easily fixed."

Blaise realized it too late…realized his intentions and almost blanched at the thought of such recklessness.

"Christian, don't…!"

"Too late."

He tightened his fist.

A wave crashed against the shore, showering them in spray.

The gentle clink of metal breaking could be heard easily over the noise.

Blaise cried out, ran to him.

Christian's body went limp, fell to the ground.

The world around them flashed with a rose colored light as the shattered remains of a garnet ring fell from Christian's limp palm and onto the waiting sand.

A/N: I apologize for the delay in this post. It took quite long to write it, and when I was finally ready to post it a few weeks ago something terribly happened. I broke up with my first boyfriend a week and a half ago, who was also my very close friend, because he cheated on me by getting drunk at a party and screwing another girl. I can't tell you the kind of pain something that that inflicts on a person. I know now, more than ever, the horror that I put Pansy through when she found Blaise and Draco together. Realizations have just come too late. But I hope this chapter makes up for the wait, and I anticipate your reviews. God bless.


	24. The Way Part I

Chapter Twenty-Four The Way (Part I) 

Far to the north, on the moors that once belonged to the ancient land of Elmet, the glorious Malfoy Manor stood out, dark and morbid. A lone island in its vast sea of snow and ice, the manor loomed regally in silhouette, its worn, stone walls encasing a cornucopia of secrets and lies, conspiracies and schemes. The high-glassed windows, usually glowing with the ethereal light of hundreds of candles and torches, were shrouded in complete darkness. The manor grounds, usually still bustling with hostlers and groundskeepers, were a lonely ghost town, with hardly a living creature, be it man or beast, walking its length. And the labyrinth of rooms, each one usually encasing a servant or flame, sat in dreary wait.

Everything was empty.

Empty save for the solitary shadow standing just outside the iron-wrought gate. A tall, imposing figure, clothed in black satin, with the hem of his robes pooling about his feet. The drawn hood shrouded a face meant to inflict fear and respect, and the dragging sleeves hid long, thin fingers of malice and majesty.

The cloaked figure; the only flaw against the blanket of white snow.

The figure's hood moved slightly as the darkened face looked up at the manor. An arm and wand stretched forth as a cold, brittle, echoing voice whispered 'Lumos!' into the frosty air. A minute bead of light erupted from the wand's tip and slightly illuminated the slanted eyes and thin, merciless mouth of the figure. The slit nostril pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, and the red pupils flicked their gaze over the top-most windows of the manor. The figure took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

"Come, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, a sneer creeping across his mouth. "The judgment hour is nearly upon us, and we must go and accompany your dear, brave wife."

--------

"It's odd, the snow. It hasn't fallen so thick in years." The tall, red-haired youth pulled his head back into the safety of the common room, closing the window and flicking the latch. He headed over towards the roaring fire and sat on the floor before it, warming his hands on the flames. "It makes me a little uneasy about everything, you know? I don't know how to explain it, but it makes my skin crawl and I get really worried. Like maybe something's happening somewhere that shouldn't be."

"It's just snow, Ron," a quiet voice said from behind him.

He turned around to glare at his sister. "Thank you; I had no idea." He turned his back on her once more and leaned onto his hands. "It doesn't matter. I don't like it either way."

"You're just paranoid."

"Well, can you blame me? I don't want to be caught off guard ever again, Gin. I've been so almost every time I wasn't on my toes." He pulled back the sleeve of his jumper to expose his arms. There were dark, deep spirals along them; scars from the ordeal in the Ministry of Magic. He shuddered at the remembrance of their pain and yanked his sleeve down once again. "It was just a feeling."

Ginny rolled her eyes and internally beat herself for what she had said. She knew that her brother had never really forgiven himself for his fumble with the brain last year; and whatever it was that the brain's thoughts had left behind continually plagued him.

"Hey, don't worry about it, okay?" He glanced back at her and she grinned encouragingly. "We're ready this time," she said. Ron nodded, but as he turned back to the fire his mind thought of other things.

No, they were not ready this time. This time, more so than any, they hadn't any idea of what was going on.

"Hey, look."

Ron turned around and saw that Ginny was looking out the window. He followed her eyes and saw the moon, high and bright in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, both haunting and regal at the same time. But there was something off about its light…something that _just didn't seem right…_

"Come on, Ron," Ginny suddenly blurted, jumping to her feet and bending down to grab her brother's arm. "Let's go!"

"Go? Go where?" he asked, rather befuddled. He had been looking forward to a nice, quiet Christmas evening in the common room, whether it be with his sister or not. He had supposed that he deserved it after all the work he had been put through.

"We're going to gather our friends and spend the rest of Christmas having fun. I'm tired of everyone worrying and mopping about all the time." She snatched their cloaks off from the armchair and headed for the portrait hole. Ron still protested.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he mumbled. "Gin, be reasonable; it's nearly eleven!"

His sister simply shrugged and pulled him out into the corridor. "All the more reason to go," she called back to him. She turned around and began heading down the hall. "An hour left to be kids before we're asked to fix the world," she whispered.

--------

Hermione's arm shook so violently that she dropped her quill. It fell to the table with a small clatter as she grabbed her shivering wrist with her other arm. Luna, who had been sitting across from her reading _The Quibbler_, looked up at her.

"Hermione?" she prompted, airy-voiced. Hermione tore her eyes away from her hand and looked up at the Ravenclaw. It was apparent that the late nights working for Dumbledore were taking a toll on the entire D.A., for Luna's usually wide, curious eyes were now drooping with fatigue at reading article after article from every media paper the wizarding world could offer. "What's wrong?"

"Er…nothing, Luna. Nothing at all." She shook her hand vigorously and picked her quill back up, moving her fingers over the soft feather to get her bearings again. Luna continued to stare at her.

"You shouldn't wear yourself out, you know. It can't be at all good for your health and you'll only fall asleep in the library again," she said mistily. "Maybe you ought to go to bed."

"No, I'm fine." Hermione shook her head slightly and dipped her quill back into it's ink bottle. "I have to finish this. But you should go to bed; we'll need you in the morning to report for the D.A…."

Luna sighed heavily. "I don't usually get very tired, and sometimes I'm afraid to sleep," she said dreamily. "Some nights I have nightmares of what happened at the Ministry last year. They keep me awake at night." She shrugged. "I don't have to go to sleep."

Hermione stared at her research partner for a while before placing her quill down and leaning back in her chair. "Hey Luna, can I ask you something?"

The younger girl smiled. "I like answering questions," she said. Hermione attempted a small grin.

"I wanted to know what you think of the Slytherins." Luna tilted her head slightly to the side. "Do you think that…well, do you think that they're all bad? Bad according to our terms, at least?"

"No," was the immediate reply, and Hermione was slightly taken aback.

"No?" 

Luna shook her head. "No. They can't _all_ be bad, right? Not all Gryffindors are brave and not all Ravenclaws are clever and not all Hufflepuffs are hard-workers. The only reason the Sorting Hat gives us these titles is because we have the potential to become extremely brave, clever, hard-working, and ambitious. It doesn't mean we have to all be the same." She looked back down at her magazine. "Neville isn't brave all the time. And actually, neither is Ronald…"

Hermione looked at the dazed girl thoughtfully and with a newfound respect. Luna was definitely strange, but, more than once, she could be right. And if someone else, other than herself, could believe in Slytherin morals, than Dumbledore's plan could actually come to pass…

"Neither am I what?" an irritated voice asked. The two girls looked up to see a pair of flaming red heads peek in on them from around the towering bookshelves. Ron looked rather disgruntled but Ginny was smiling with all her charm. "You were talking about me, weren't you?" Ron asked, eyes narrowing. Hermione smiled at the siblings, almost glad for the interruption.

"Yes," Luna said bluntly. "I told Hermione that you're not brave _all_ the time, although none of us mind it so much."

Ron looked confused. "Well, now I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a very strange compliment." Luna just nodded, answering neither question.

"What are you two doing here?" Hermione asked, finishing up her letter and blowing on the ink to dry. Ginny sat on the table and took the parchment from her, fanning it out as she spoke.

"Well, we were sitting in the common room when we decided--," 

"—when you decided--,"

"—when I decided that we need to spend the remaining hours of the Christmas holiday actually enjoying ourselves. Hence our arrival here." She looked back at Luna. "Care to join us?"

"All right." She carefully laid _The Quibbler_ on the table atop the other piles of wizard magazines and newspapers and stood up, pulling her royal blue cloak on. She looked back at Hermione. "You should come too. I wouldn't like it, knowing I left you alone in the library."

The older girl couldn't help but smile. "Okay. Just for tonight." She cleaned off the end of her quill, stuck it through her ponytail, and then organized her workplace. Ginny sighed audibly at the tedious routine and grabbed Hermione's wrist, likewise to the way she had grabbed her brother's wrist, and hauled her away from the workplace.

"Come on, while we're still young!" She dragged her hurriedly out of the library, laughing, with Luna and Ron running after them, both grinning despite themselves. Even Hermione could hardly suppress a giggle. This was the many reasons why she appreciated Ginny and her new bold, forward attitude; it kept everyone else more or less sane.

And Hermione needed someone to keep her sane, because she had a horrible feeling that something terrible would happen very soon. She had felt it in the library, which was why her hand had shook so suddenly, and she felt it now, racing through the corridors with two Weasleys and a Ravenclaw: something was going to happen within the coming hour, and it would be something that would change everything forever.

--------

It wasn't as though he tried to wander off alone all the time, or that he constantly ended up isolating himself from everyone else. It was just something that always seemed to happen to him. But it wasn't as though he didn't like it, and it wasn't as though he couldn't use the time for himself.

This time, on the cold, quiet night of Christmas, Harry found himself walking aimlessly through the school corridors, wandering from floor to floor without any true destination. About an hour ago he had emerged from yet another 'lesson' with Dumbledore, and the things they had discussed had left him with much to ponder. Dumbledore's lesson's had a tendency to do that to him.

But after this particular lesson, and after Harry had posed a question that had plagued him for some time now, Dumbledore had left him with much more than he had anticipated. He had spoke of strange coincidences and bad feelings, leaning towards a disaster he could neither explain nor place. Harry had found it all quite disturbing.

And that was why he could be found…wandering.

He looked out the nearest window towards the great moon. He had a sudden, fleeting thought of the Slytherins and what they were doing at that moment. At a pureblood ball? At a Death Eater meeting? At a Christmas killing spree?

His fists curled.

And then uncurled.

Had not Dumbledore told him, from the very beginning of the year, to not judge anyone around him too quickly anymore? Hadn't he spoken to Ron and Hermione about the Slytherins in confidence, letting out only that they were to try and bridge differences for reasons Harry was uninformed about? The Headmaster had put much emphasis on that very subject to Harry since the off, and had done more so with his best friends.

But Harry just couldn't understand why.

"Harry Potter!"

He turned at his name. He smiled.

Ginny Weasley was running towards him, smiling madly. He liked it when she smiled. Behind her was Hermione, Ron, and Luna, who was also tugging along a rather hassled looking Neville. They all seemed tired but still rather cheerful.

"Knut for you thoughts, mate?" Ron offered jokingly when he reached him. Harry shook his head and grinned.

"More like a galleon. What are you all doing here?" Not that he didn't appreciate their presence. Seeing their faces helped ease his mind.

Ginny was the one who stepped forward and took his hand in hers, bouncing up and down. "It's Christmas, Harry! Christmas night!" She started skipping around the corridor, pulling Harry along while everyone laughed. "We should be having fun, not working!"

He tried not to laugh. "Gin, calm down. The work--," 

"Can wait for later," Hermione piped in, pulling the quill and band from her hair and letting it loose. Harry was astonished that she would be the one to agree with Ginny's statement. "I think she's right. We need a break right now. We need to enjoy Christmas."

Ron shrugged, throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "The girls have a point there. I can't remember the last evening when I wasn't working on something more than just schoolwork."

"All work and no play make Snurggles unfit to be schwanked," Luna added airily. Neville nodded next to her, although it was quite apparent that no one knew what she was talking about.

"They dragged me with them too, Harry, and I can't say I'm disappointed."

Harry looked at all their faces and then back out the window. There was no doubting the bad aura that hung around the night like a mist, or the shivers of danger that rippled through his every nerve. But there was also no doubting the fact that this was their only chance to relax; to have fun before they had to truly prepare for the tasks ahead.

On this night of horrors they had only an hour to be happy.

"All right then," he said, squeezing Ginny's hand and looking down at her. She grinned.

"Come. We're wasting precious time standing around and posing for each other." And with that she, once again, led the way through the corridor, the entire group racing behind to an hour of fun and carefree bliss…the last hour of fun and carefree bliss that they would have in a long time.

-------

_-Draco-_

"INNOCENT BLOOD SPILLS ACROSS THE EARTH! THE PUREBLOOD LINE REEKS OF DEATH!"

There was a great flash of emerald light and screams erupted within the ballroom. I tore away from Pansy but still kept her close. There were more flashes of light and then the yelling of spells, and soon the glass doors shattered under the weight of magic, showering us in glittering rain.

"Look out!" I held Pansy to my chest and turned my back to the ball, shielding her from the onslaught. She gasped in surprise, but she did not seem afraid.

She clutched the front of my shirt and stepped back, staring over my shoulder.

"Draco…look."

I turned and looked back at the ballroom. My blood ran cold.

It was the gypsies. They were gathered in a circle in the middle of the floor, the one with the staff standing in the center. She seemed to be in a trance, with her hands raised above her head, balancing her staff on her palms. The rest of the guests had their wands out, spells already glowing at the tips, pointing them at the gypsies in the heat to kill.

"BEWARE TO WHERE YOUR LOYALTIES LIE! THE AGE OF UNTAINTED BLOOD COMES TO AN END!"

It was the middle gypsy speaking, her voice echoing deafeningly against the acoustic walls. Her staff suddenly glowed a brilliant shade of green and strings of light splayed out from it, striking a few of the guests in the chest and hooking them to her staff. People screamed. Spells bombarded the calm-looking circle of gypsies, but it seemed their magic was much stronger. The spells simply dissipated.

Pansy started for the broken doors.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

I saw past her shoulder in the crowd to where Mrs. Bulstrode was kneeling on the floor only a few yards away from the gypsies. In her arms she was cradling Millicent, a thin string of light protruding from her chest as she writhed uncontrollably in her arms.

"THE EARTH LAYS IN QUIET AS HER CHILDREN ARE SLAUGHTERED! DO NOT TRUST YOUR KING! DO NOT TRUST YOUR MASTER!"

More lights flashed. More bodies fell. The flames danced in their flambeauxs as the wind of spells and shouts whizzed through the room. We both looked down. The stone under our feet was cracking under the weight of magic, hairline fissures spanning out from the ballroom. The pixies in the bushes had doused their lights.

The winter cold, pushed away by the magical barrier of the fortress, now began to seep in. The magic Mrs. Parkinson had laid down for the ball was being burdened by the amount of spells exploding from the ballroom. It was thinning.

The cold was brutal.

I expected Pansy to be shivering madly, what with the make of her dress, but when I looked at her all I saw was a hollow look of hatred in her dark eyes and her fingers clenched into fists.

She did not speak to me, only stared.

I knew what she was thinking.

Around us we could hear the sounds of death.

"Don't," I said. "Don't go barging in there like an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot." She pushed past me, but I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. She rounded on me. "Draco, they've got Millicent! They're killing people in there, and you want to stand out here hiding!"

"Of course not!" I could feel my hand moving towards the sword at my side, the need to draw it out growing. I wanted to run through that ballroom, slicing through the air in a satisfying need to avenge. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I knew better.

Of the many haunting things my father had taught me, from the monotonous game of wizard's chess to the lethal use of the blade, he had also taught and tested me on the ways of a battlefield, the best tactics as a commander, and the horrible art of war. Of these things he had taught me that the best element was the element of surprise. Be it dishonorable or conniving, it was the ultimate advantage in a battle.

"We can't go in there. They're on a mad killing spree, and we're not a part of that. We're safe, for now…"

"Safe? Safe!" She tugged her shoulder out of my hold. "You coward."

There was a deafening boom as a number of spells blasted through the stone wall.

"Get down!"

I grabbed her and threw her to the ground. I dropped down next to her. Huge slabs of ancient rock were coming down on us, bombarding us. I stared up, frozen, a great boulder coming toward me. Then I heard a cry next to my ear, saw a wand tip shoot up, white light darting from its point. A huge golden shield appeared over me. The boulder smashed into it instead. I turned to my side.

"Thanks," I said. Pansy just stared up at the shield, wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Yeah," was all she said before we both scrambled to our feet to escape the rest of the tirade.

It was in the next ten seconds that the night was filled with explosions and chaos. More blasts tore through the side of the fortress. Soon, people began milling out of the shattered doors and crumbling openings. Some were wounded from wayward spells, others were dragging the fallen as far away from the gypsies as possible, the green light still hooked solidly in their chests.

I pulled Pansy closer to the parapet to avoid the worst of the crowd. She collapsed onto the small stone wall, bracing her arms onto its solid surface. She was breathing very hard. I stood beside her, my wand at the ready. I shoved away those who came near us. I didn't care. I didn't want the crowd to sweep her away.

"Draco!"

I looked down at her bent figure. She was coughing forcibly, but she had to scream to be heard over the racket. "Find my mother! Find mine and yours! They could be hurt!"

I had already thought of my mother, though not so much out of worry as Pansy had for hers. I was wise to the power of Mrs. Malfoy, and I pitied the witch or wizard who ever came in contact with her magic or quick mind. The only thing I worried about was where she was in this massive crowd.

My mother was a petite woman and not so young anymore. Overpopulated chaos such as this could physically harm her.

My eyes scanned the crowd in hysteria when there was a scream next to my ear. I snapped my head to the side and saw the veela-girl standing next to me. Her eyes were focused on the ballroom and she was pressing herself against the parapet, her mouth wide in a piercing scream. Others followed her gaze and cried out as well. I turned to look back through the doorways.

A string of the green light was coming straight for her, aiming directly for her chest.

Before I could even begin to comprehend what the hell I was doing, I shoved her aside and stood, rooted in her place, the light flying towards me with a point like an arrow seeking its target. I completely forgot about my wand.

My free hand reached for the hilt at my side and I unsheathed the blade Madame Tsion gave me. I swung it behind my head and brought it down the center of my body, directly in front of my nose, broad side exposed. The light collided with it in an agonizing clang and bounced, claiming, instead, the opposite wall of the ballroom. The veela girl gasped from where she had fallen to the floor. Some others who had seen stared for a moment. I was just as surprised.

I had never known a mere sword to defend against any sort of magic, least of all magic as ancient as the gypsies'.

"Thank you! Thank you, monsieur!" The veela-girl was kneeling at my feet, her hands clutching onto my robe in flirtatious relief.

I kicked at her and returned to Pansy's side. I was in no mood to be seduced at the moment. My eyes were already scanning the balcony ledge where many others were fighting against the glowing tentacles of the gypsy staff. Most were losing.

I immediately prepared my stance, intending to throw the full power of my blade to help a feeble, old man who was trying to resist the light. He held his wand out in front of him like a dagger, his wizened face contorted in concentration as the light pressed against his barrier.

I shifted my weight to my right foot. I bent at the knee. I gripped the hilt tighter.

Pansy's hand fell onto my shoulder and her fingernails dug into my skin, painfully. I growled and turned back to her, frustrated and annoyed.

"Pansy!"

"Draco." She was looking not at the mayhem around us, but past the ledge's wall, out onto the coast. I followed her gaze into the darkened view and saw exactly what she was staring at.

Red sparks, flying out feebly somewhere up the beach, blood red in the ink black night.

"Christian."

I stared at Pansy's pale expression. "I was supposed to be watching him. I was supposed to be looking out for him!" She let go of me and tore through the crowd, forcing her way between trees and bushes.

"Pansy, wait!"

I ran after her. A Reducto Curse grazed against my shoulder, cutting me. A fiery pain shot up my arm. I hissed through my teeth as blood dripped from my torn sleeve, but continued to follow after Pansy until I caught up with her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Where do you think!"

"It's not safe out there, Pansy!"

"It's not safe here either!"

Instantly there was a blast, shaking the stones under their feet once more. Stone continued to rain down on the far left corner of the balcony, purple smoke billowing from the ruined wall, explaining that someone had thrown an extremely potent potion. The screams continued to grow. Pansy seemed unaffected by it.

"He could be in trouble, Draco, or worse! What if he's hurt?"

"Who gives a damn if he's hurt?"

"I do!"

I heard a mournful gasp from behind me and whipped around. Far along the parapet the old wizard had lost his battle with the light and now stood, back arched, with the beam running straight into his chest. "We're needed here. We need to fight that fucking bitch before she kills us all. Christian will be fine."

"Draco…" she looked horribly unsure, "He was with Blaise."

And even though I did not, and do not, have any real concern for Blaise's welfare, she was my escort and something of an acquaintance to me, so it did not come as a surprise that I felt a stab of unease; I was inclined to protect her.

"STOP IT!" The yell was so uncomfortable and random in the turmoil of panic that all eyes immediately darted to the fragile silhouette standing before the gypsies' circle. It was Mrs. Parkinson, her arms outstretched towards the people and her face desperate for their attention. "Please, I beg, do not fear them! They mean us no true harm--,"

"THE BEAST HAS RISEN!"

With the cry of a banshee, the middle gypsy jabbed her staff towards Mrs. Parkinson. The haunting green light exploded from its end, thicker this time, and pierced the woman where she stood. Mrs. Parkinson let out a startled gasp and looked down at her chest, the rod of glowing emerald running through her.

Pansy and I watched, too stunned to even react. I looked at her face and made out the words she was silently mouthing. "Not yet," she was saying, "not like this." And then crumpled to the ground. She did not writhe or convulse like the other victims, but laid there, unreasoningly dead to the world.

When I think on it and conjure up the moments of the gypsies' tirade, I have to admit that I've never been so terrified in my life. Not because I was scared that I'd be the next victim, but because of the chaos that it was causing. There was so much panic. People were running everywhere, spells overflowed in the night, and the brittle cold of winter fell hard onto our shoulders, the last of Mrs. Parkinson's magic fading away when she fell to the ground. A few wayward spells headed my way and I deflected each one easily with my sword. But it wasn't on purpose so much as it was on instinct. In truth, I was paralyzed with confusion and fear, trying my hardest to wake up from this hellish nightmare. So many of the people were falling, one after another, the numbers unrelenting and growing in haste. There were hundreds of us at this ball, each dressed in our own attempts at recreating the look and feel of Camelot only to find our efforts mussed over with the struggle to survive or else from the pouring sweat of the twitching bodies on the floor.

But for Pansy, the white amongst the darkness, the symbol of an angel amongst crazed demons, was not to be fazed by terror. She stood with eyes flaming with their black hue, her white dress swirling in the winter wind. Moment after she watched her mother fall she jabbed her wand at the gypsies, her face hardened with revenge.

"_Crucio!_" The spell blasted from her wand tip, tearing through the air with the force of her will. It collided with the gypsy circle and dissipated like everyone else's, but it caught the eye of the bard who looked up at Pansy with her distant eyes.

"DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA MORI!"

"Yeah, and the same to you, bitch," Pansy yelled. She started to run towards them, but I caught her arm and pushed her towards the stairway.

"Go." I held my blade in both hands. "Get out of here."

She glared at me in contempt, her anger building with every second. "Now you want me to go! No! I'm staying here."

"I though you wanted to help Machiavelli?" I growled, annoyed. She had to leave now. She had to be safe. Staying with me wasn't safe anymore…because of her mother. Because her mother was dead now.

"I'm not leaving my mother out there!" She slammed in my shoulder, knocking my unstable stance into the ground. She fell on top of me, both of us wincing at the contact. While I gathered my bearings, however, Pansy scrambled back to her feet, my sword clenched in her hand. "But I do need to know that Christian is all right. You need to go to him."

"Hell no."

"I'm serious, Draco. Blaise and Christian need help."

"Then get your own damn self to their side," I yelled, glaring up at her. I swept my leg out and around and knocked her legs out from under her. She fell unceremoniously back down just as a glowing Cruciatus Curse soared through the place where she'd been standing. "I'm not letting you get into this madness."

"I'm not helpless, asshole! I'm a better witch than you!"

"It's because I'm a fucking wizard and I'm using a fucking sword!" I bellowed. She looked furious. "Don't be an idiot and get out of here!"

Her eyes, those cold, dark windows of so much heartache, pain, humiliation, and sadness fixed me with a gaze that radiated nothing but hatred and anger. Hatred for my trying to protect her, hatred for my insults, hatred for the entire situation and the people it had forced us to become.

Without a word, without any forewarning whatsoever, Pansy raised my sword above her head and, with a grunt of effort, hurled it over the parapet and into the night.

"No!" I jumped to my feet and leapt after it, but it was too late. The silver blade winked mournfully in the moonlight as it made its descent downward. "Are you mad!" I cried desperately. I stared after it long after it was gone from sight.

"If you want it, go and get it."

I rounded on her, intending to chide her until she bled to death with reproach, but all I saw was her back as she darted into the fray, the screams, streams, and gleams of spells encasing her white silhouette. I started to take a step after her, but then I realized I was too vulnerable. Without a weapon I was practically helpless. I had my wand, but after seeing what the gypsy's could do and witnessing the kind of spells that were flying about, I knew I wasn't quick enough as a wizard to stand a moment against that kind of tirade. Pansy _was_ a better witch than I was, I had to admit. I needed my sword. I was good with a sword.

I took a split second to decide, let out a frustrated growl, and turned round, darting down the stairwell and deep into the shadows, cursing Pansy and hoping she'd leave some gypsies for me for when I got back.


	25. The Way Part II

Chapter Twenty-Five — The Way (Part II)

_Pansy_

I pushed through the chaotic crowd, my eyes fixed on the circle of gypsies and never once straying from their target.

_"Crucio!"_

_"Impedimenta!"_

_"Avada--,"_

"YOU SHALL NOT BESTOW DEATH ON THIS NIGHT OF BLOOD!" The bard gripped her staff tighter and threw her head back, almost to the brink of snapping off. I wished with a fiery vengeance that it would.

I shoved an old lady out of my way and ran all the way to the gypsies, dodging their green beams as I went. By some miracle I reached their circle unharmed, my wand still gripped tightly in my hand.

"You bastard sons of whores!" I swung my wand at them, screaming out a spell that I can't remember, but it did nothing. I was practically face to face with them and they weren't even flinching. They just kept chanting, over and over again, without breath and without stop.

But I was loath to admit defeat. I pelted them with hex after curse after jinx, hardly pausing for breath or thought to what I was casting. I could have been turning them into tree frogs for all I knew. Either way, nothing could touch them. My spells, launched at close range, dissipated along with everyone else's, leaving behind only a wisp of their light.

Nothing could touch them.

"What do you want!" I screamed, running directly in front of the bard and projecting my voice up at her. My cries actually caught the attention of the other gypsy minstrels and they directed their dark gazes towards me, their stares blank yet still penetrating. "Why are you doing this? Killing innocent people on Christmas night!"

The bard actually looked down at me then, lifting her head from its upturned wail and titled it towards me. I took a step back, surprised by the look in her eyes. Unlike her fellow minstrels the bard had eyes of lightest grey, their bright hue glowing in the firelight and the aura of her staff. I stared up at the thing resting on her palms. Thousands of strands splayed from it, each one hooked firmly into the chest of a helpless witch or wizard.

"The heiress in white."

I started, staring at the harper, the man who had spoken. He was tall and lean, his harp strapped onto his back and a black band tattooed around his neck. At first I didn't believe he had said anything; his voice sounded so normal, not fitting the epic scenario that he was a part of. But then he spoke again, and I watched as his blank eyes suddenly filled with a keen sense of understanding and absorption.

"You are Morgaine, the healer in white, the savior who pretends that she is a villain. Your blood is untainted yet you will die because it is soiled."

I scowled at him. "Jabbering idiot. I'm Pansy Parkinson, daughter of Zhyerra Parkinson, the mistress of this castle and the innocent women you have killed within her own walls!"

"We do not bring death," he said. "We bring deliverance."

"You find strange meanings to your murders."

"And you will find nothing at all even though your stone pulses with the need to seek."

I looked down, my eyes resting on the gem about my neck, it's opaque beauty glowing as steadily as the moon. "Why is it--,"

"Madame Tsion would be disappointed."

My head snapped up. Another of the minstrels, the young piper girl, was watching me, but her face was filled with interest. She reached out and pointed at my throat.

"That will return to her without having found it's mate."

I felt my breath catch in my throat. "Madame Tsion…you know Madame Tsion?"

"Look." The girl pointed past me, to something over my shoulder. I turned, following her finger to where the moon hung in the sky. "It has stopped. It isn't moving, just a minute before midnight. Our people have spared you and we have come to save you. The man you call Master is the man you shall call Murderer. Tonight your people are forfeit because the blood that runs through your veins is pure and ancient; the blood of your great ancestors. Your people will die and your kind will be erased from this world." There was a pause. "This is your genocide."

I stared at the moon, seeing it burn like a pearl in the sky as the girl's words swirled in my head. I was terribly confused, torn between wanting to contemplate what the hell she had just said and turning around to curse the life out of them. But things she had touched on: the pureblood lines, You-Know-Who, murder…genocide. And even my stone necklace. Things I had been warned about, things I had been told about. I was suddenly afraid of everything around me, of the fortress and the people and the wand in my hand. It was an odd and strange feeling that came over me from practically no where. I was so confused, feeling things that didn't make sense, changing my moods with a bipolar ease.

Something wasn't right. Something was terribly not right.

"The Dark Lord!" I spun around to face the gypsies again. "He's going to kill us!"

A white hot sensation stabbed through my chest and I gasped, my eyes growing wide as pain spread through my body like wildfire. My vision was soon filled with the grey gaze of the bard, her features emotionless and blank. She was standing right in front of me, having descended from her height, and in one hand she held the staff, green beams still shooting from it's length, while in the other she held a dagger, its sharpened end buried six inches deep into my chest.

They just stared at me, all of them. The eyes of the gypsies watched me as I gasped silently for breath, the pain becoming slowly unbearable. I tried to cry out, to scream bloody murder and relieve myself of the pain, but my voice had died and the most I could do was open my mouth in a silent cry for help.

"He will not kill you," the bard told me. I stared at her, insane with death, and then I closed my eyes and fell into the waiting arms of the shadows surrounding me.

-------------------------------

_Draco _

I'm blind.

My vision is horrible. I remember when we were younger Pansy used to say that maybe I should get glasses, since I would never let a wand near my eyes. My eyes aren't terribly bad, but things tend to get fuzzy around the edges when they're not close enough. It wasn't until she was given her own pair after Beula Dormiens that she silenced herself on the subject of glasses.

But that still didn't change the fact that I haven't the best eyesight in the world.

So to place me in a scenario where I had to find a thin blade amongst sea and rock in the middle of the night was probably one of the cruelest things to do. Darkness helps nothing, and the moon wasn't exactly helping my situation either. It still glowed high in the sky but since the gypsies had begun their tirade it had dulled its beams somewhat. Not to mention the crashing sea breaks and the jagged shoreline.

I pressed my back against the tough refuge of a boulder, sheltering myself from the onslaught of yet another huge wave. I was spared the worst of it but the sea spray still splashed my face, the bitter salt of the water filling my mouth. For probably the millionth time I cursed Pansy and her stubborn arrogance and pride…throwing my sword out like that…. And the Summoning Charm could help my situation; for some reason my sword wasn't responding to it.

"Damnit." I grasped the end of my cloak, holding it over my head as I ran out from behind the boulder, pushing from stepping stone to stepping stone, water raining down on my head. I scanned the shallow waters below me, desperate, yet I saw no glint of moonlight on steel.

Above me I could still faintly hear the screams of the men and women falling to the minstrels. I ignored them and continued my fruitless search, desperately squinting through the darkness for my weapon. At my side the scabbard of Madame Tsion banged rhythmically against my leg, the jewels sewn into its making winking merrily.

I scoured the tide pools for what felt like hours when, really, it couldn't have been more the a few minutes. I had begun to dread that it had been swept away to sea when a flash of metal caught my eye to my right. There, securely wedged in the fissures of the scattered rocks, was my sword. I threw up my arm against another vengeful wave and ran over to it, carefully settling my feet on the slippery stones. With a great effort I reached my sword, wrapped my fingers around its hilt, and pulled.

It did not budge.

No wonder the Summoning Charm failed.

"No fucking way."

I pulled again and still it didn't move. I gritted my teeth, another wave crashed and showered me with water and I threw my entire weight into the tug, yanking my sword free with the ring of metal sliding from stone. I staggered back and tripped on the scattered rocks. I landed hard against the side of another boulder, my shoulder stinging at the contact. I hissed in frustration and pain, my hand still gripping my blade possessively.

"Help! Someone please, help!"

The cry broke solidly through the roar of the ocean and the chaos up above, ringing clearly across the shoreline. I looked up, trying to find the owner. It couldn't possibly be someone from the castle; the call was too clear.

"Who's there?"

"Anyone…oh, God. Please! Help!"

I quickly sheathed my sword and threw my cloak behind me. I dug my toes into the jagged boulder and climbed to its top, looking deep into the moonlit darkness. The sea went on with its rage as I scanned the seemingly empty shoreline. There wasn't anything odd…save for the solitary green figure running fiercely towards me, their bright red hair set afire with a heavenly glow.

"Blaise?"

She stumbled on the folds of her skirt and fought against the fall. I slid down from my rock and made my way back to the safety of solid grass. Blaise finally caught sight of me, gasped, and then broke into a run fueled by desperation.

"Blaise, what are you doing here?"

"Draco! Oh my—thank goodness. I thought no one would come!"

She staggered towards me and collapsed against my chest, gasping for breath. Tears stained her face and she was shivering, though I doubted it was from being cold.

"What's wrong?"

She reached up and tugged on my lapel, looking up at me with such a look of defeat and sadness that I almost didn't believe that it was the same Zabini. "Draco, please…I don't know what to do! He just…crushed it…I didn't have time…and he isn't moving…"

"What are you talking about? Have you been out here this whole time?" I took her by the elbows and held her up; she could barely stand on her own two feet. She just kept babbling and crying, gasping for air as if she couldn't seem to breathe right at all. "Come on, come with me. We have to get back to the ball. The gypsies, they're killing--,"

"No!" I tried to pull her along but she dug her heels into the ground and would not budge. "Draco, you have to help Christian!"

I stopped, looked back at her. "What?"

"Please! He's this way. I don't know what to do!" She grabbed me by the wrist and started pulling me deeper into the darkness. Considering how small and petite Blaise was I was surprised by how strongly she was able to pull me. "We have to save him. We have to."

"Wait." I stopped walking and the look she shot me was one of deathly poison. "What is going on?"

"Christian is hurt and I need your help!" she bellowed. "We're wasting time! He could be dying!"

Now, I never liked Machiavelli, and I really couldn't care less if the guy found himself in the midst of all three Unforgivable Curses, but seeing the distress in Blaise Zabini's face made me nod and follow her running figure.

If someone could transform that cold, dark, calculating stare into one of confused emotion and anguish, then they were definitely someone I could find it in myself to respect.

--------------------

_It was something he had not intended._

_Death, yes; for all reasons he had expected to expire in that moment. It wasn't a though he was comfortable with, but it did not seem foolish to him either. To crush the ring would be to destroy the core of his torment. If he died…well then, all right. He would die. It did not seem like such a loss._

_But he wasn't dead. Far from it._

_But he wasn't alive. Far from it._

_He was hovering somewhere in between, close to neither, far from both. He wasn't asleep yet he wasn't aware either. He wasn't awake yet his eyes were open. He could still see things but not register them. He was still there._

_But he didn't know. _

_He didn't know who he was, he didn't know where he was. He had heard a girl's voice, seen her face, seen her fiery red hair, but he did not know who she was._

_All he knew was that there had been a ring, it had controlled him, and now it's fragments lay in his hand, sticking to his flesh and welling the wounds with blood that he wasn't even sure were his._

---------------

Blaise crashed to her knees, her entire weight almost crushing Christian as she dropped to his side. She quickly groped for his face, cradling his head in her hands as she leaned over him, tears falling freely from her green eyes.

"Please, please," she whispered, pushing the hair from his forehead. "Please, don't be dead. I'm sorry, I am. Just be alive, Christian, please. Be alive. Just please be alive…"

There was a rustle in the grass as Draco Malfoy ran up to her, stopping short of the two dark figures and dropping to one knee beside her. There was a moment when he did not say anything, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his eyes took in the scene before him. Blaise bending over the seemingly lifeless body of Christian Machiavelli, one of his hands lying, palm up, with minute shards stabbing his flesh and his creepily blue eyes staring wide at the sky.

"He's still awake," Draco said. Blaise swallowed a mouthful of air and shook her head. 

"No, he's not. But he lies with his eyes open, staring at nothing."

Draco glanced at Blaise and found her beautiful face filled with nothing but the deepest concern for the man lying on the ground. She was barely even aware of Draco being there at all. In this alone he found it very disturbing. Such deep feelings for this boy. She must have known him for years.

He quickly unclasped his cloak and threw if over Blaise's shoulders. She was shaking terribly. He gently pushed her aside and laid his ear against Christian's chest. Blaise stared at him, puzzled.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a heartbeat." Blaise quickly silenced. "I can barely hear it, but it's definitely in there." Draco sat up, frowning. "It's like he's not even breathing. His inhale is shallow, not at all visible. He's practically dead." He looked up at Blaise. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Please, can we talk about this later? We need to help him!"

"Well, I can't exactly help him if I don't know what happened to him. Mind you, I'm no Madame Pomfrey." He furrowed his brow. "Quite honestly, I'm no Longbottom when it comes to healing."

Blaise dropped her face into her hand, sighing as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulder. "Oh God…"

"Blaise." She looked up reluctantly. "What happened?"

She stared at him a while, looked back down at Christian, and then hugged his cloak closer around her shoulders. But it wasn't cold, the magical barrier still held strong against the winter.

"See his hand?" She pointed to the upturned palm and Draco glanced at the thinly bloodied fingers. "Those shards were from—from a ring." She coughed. "That ring that…I…the one I always used to wear."

Draco looked back up. "Your family ring?"

"It wasn't a family ring."

He didn't respond because he had always known.

"Christian had it in his hand and…he…crushed it. That's how it stabbed him."

Draco frowned. A man lay half-dead and she was rambling about a ring. The two didn't make sense, which meant that whatever it was that connected them couldn't be anything other than dark intentions and dangerous magic. And Draco didn't want to know about the darkness or magic just yet.

"We need to take him up to the castle. Someone there should be able to help us." She looked back at the fortress as Draco stared at her, stricken.

"Blaise," he said very slowly, "we can't go back to the castle."

"Well why on earth not?"

"Because it's under attack!"

She stared at him, genuinely surprised. "Attack? Wh—by who? How? When did this happen?"

Draco could hardly contain himself. "Have you heard nothing out here, Blaise? Or haven't you noticed that there is now a giant hole in the side of the castle where their used to be a wall!" He threw his hand out to point her way and she looked in its direction, unable to ignore the great blast in the balcony, completely visible even from the coast.

"Oh my God. Who did that?"

"The minstrels," Draco growled, anger welling inside of him once more. "Those foreign gypsies just started blasting everything in sight, stabbing people with this strange, green light coming from a staff." He pulled in a deep breath. "Half those people are dead now." Then Draco thought of Pansy and a rush of new adrenaline sped through his body. "Okay, come on. We've got to go."

He straightened up and started folding the sleeves of his tunic so that they rested above his elbows.

Blaise, who had been staring at the castle, alight with spells, turned back to him. "Go? Go where? The fortress is under attack! I can't—we can't bring Christian there, he'll--,"

"We're not bringing him to the fortress." Draco, bent down and, slipping his arms under Machiavelli's lifeless body, hoisted him up with a grunt. He stood, staggering a bit under the weight. "Not very light though, is he?"

Blaise scrambled to her feet as well. "Where are we taking him?"

"We're going back to the castle and I'm putting you and this corpse in the first carriage I see."

"Don't call him a corpse."

"Then I want you to get as far away from here as fast as possible. Go home, go to St. Mungo's, go back to Hogwarts for all I care. Just make sure you don't come back, under any circumstances." He gritted his teeth and adjusted Christian's weight in his arms. The boy lay limp in his hold, his bleeding hand swinging back and forth.

Blaise looked partly confused. "But, what about you? You're not coming with us?"

"No. Come on Blaise, we have to hurry." Draco turned back up the coast and began a brisk, but burdened, walk towards the castle, the chaotic sounds growing in volume once again. Blaise hurried at his side, the black cloak swirling around behind her as she fought to keep up with his wide stride. They were silent for a while, Draco concentrating on not dropping the boy in his arms and Blaise willing herself to not listen to the screams and shouts emanating from above.

And then Draco felt a small hand on his arm and looked over at Blaise, who had stopped walking.

"What are you doing?" he asked her. She was staring at the fortress, eyes wide and pupils dilated.

"The noise," she said. "It stopped."

Draco looked back up as well and noticed that the spitfire glow of spells had vanished, leaving behind a castle bathed in nothing but dull moonlight. "What's going on up there?"

"Draco, the water!"

He turned towards the sea and almost gasped as a huge wave rose up before him, high enough to reach them even though they were so far from the shoreline. But it didn't crash. It was frozen; stilled in the moment when it would have soaked all three of them, maybe even pulling Christian's helpless body to sea. "It's not moving." He looked around. Grass caught in the wind, cattails bent against the sea spray, dandelion seeds floating through the air…all were frozen, caught in time and held by a net.

"Draco, what's going on?" Blaise demanded, swirling about herself, panicking.

"I don't know," was all he could say.

"What's happening? Why has everything stopped? Draco, why haven't _we_ stopped? Why are we still able to move when everything else isn't?" Her voice was becoming shrill, but he couldn't blame her. It was all too strange; all too much to deal with. "Even the stars!" She threw her head back and gazed up at the heavens. "They're not even blinking anymore! What is happening!"

Draco didn't know, hadn't even the smallest inkling, but he wanted to get out. Get out of the open, out where no one would find them if something happened. "We have to move, now!"

Draco set off at a run, growling through the pain of carrying Christian. Blaise ran beside him, still staring about them as if searching for anything that could move. "Do you think everyone else is all right? That they're not frozen, like us?"

"I hope so," he panted. "I hope so." But he didn't sound hopeful.

--------------

Hermione gasped as a rather large snowball exploded against her head, splashing her face and neck with cold. She stared across the field at the culprit, a smile stretching across her snow-covered face. "Ginny Weasley, you shall pay for that," she cried out, laughing. About thirty yards away, crouching behind a snow mound, Ginny's red head bobbed back and forth as she stuck her tongue out mockingly.

"But Hermione," she called back, beaming, "I haven't the money!"

Hermione scowled at her good-naturedly and threw her snowball with renewed force. But Ginny, with her blasted Quidditch reflexes, ducked down just as Neville stood for his throw. He received Hermione's snowball with the full satisfaction of pure surprise.

"Gaah!"

Hermione burst out laughing. "Sorry Neville! That was meant for Ginny!" And then she quickly ducked down behind her mound before she could receive a hefty retaliation. "Wow, I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. It's been so long and it feels wonderful! Don't you think so, Ron?" Hermione had been fashioning herself more ammunition when she looked to her right at Ron. He was sitting with his back against the mound, his cloaked wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He was staring down at his wrist, brow furrowed and a frown on his lips. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, fine." But he still stared down with his troubled look. Hermione sighed and nudged him in the shoulder.

"Ron, we can't afford to be lazy now! Harry and Ginny are formidable opponents and Neville's starting to throw closer to his targets! Luna and I need as much help as possible!" She was laughing; laughing so hard that her cheeks hurt from smiling. Gosh, it felt so good to get out of the castle, away from their responsibilities so they could act like kids again.

Ron only rolled his eyes, unfazed by their dire situation in their snow-infested war. "What are you worried about? Luna is a weapon of mass destruction when it comes to snowball fights."

And it was true. Next to him Luna was on her knees, back straight up and a pile of snowballs waiting at her side. Her face was serene and almost unfocused, but her shoulders were pressed down, her chin was held high, and her arm continually pulled back and sprang forward like a catapult, hitting either Harry, Ginny or Neville every time. Mostly Neville.

"She is rather good at this, isn't she," Hermione complimented as Luna, with no expression of concentration whatsoever, let fly two balls at once, gaining a satisfied yelp from Neville on the other side. "It's almost like she doesn't even try."

"It must be her weirdness," Ron commented absently. "It's her super power." He squinted down at his wrist and then used his teeth to pull the glove off his other hand. Hermione stopped fiddling with snow and scooted closer to him, looking down just as he was.

"You're awfully distracted," she said, matter-of-factly. "What's wrong?"

"My watch," Ron grumbled, bending his head down further and turning the knob on his wristwatch. Hermione leaned against his shoulder, staring at it.

"What happened to it?"

"It's not working."

"Not working?"

"It's not ticking, and it's barely moving. It's not working."

"Maybe it's dying," she suggested. Ron stopped what he was doing and looked over to her, eyebrows raised.

"Dying?" he asked, skeptical. Hermione did not like the condescending look he was giving her and nodded.

"Yes, dying. Haven't you heard that expression before? Maybe the batteries are out."

Ron's eyebrows went higher. "Batteries? As in the things my dad collects in his tool shed?" Hermione shrugged.

"Ginny's watch has batteries."

"But that's Ginny," Ron said, waving the fact aside. "She's as bonkers as our dad. My watch runs on magic." He twiddled the knob again and then tapped on its face. "But it isn't working."

They both peered down at the watch's face. The big hand and little hand seemed to have stopped at the same place but the little hand looked to be having a hard time continuing to tick. It kept trying to moving past eleven fifty-nine but to no avail.

"What time it is now?" Hermione asked, pushing up her sleeve to check her own watch. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, I wouldn't know, Hermione, would I?"

She scowled at him. "That was rhetorical, Ron." She glanced down her own wrist, frowned noticeably, and squinted at it. Ron sighed and picked up a snowball, throwing it lazily over his shoulder, holding up the pretense that he was still playing. When he noticed Hermione's concern he prodded her.

"What?" She didn't answer. "Is your watch 'dying' too?" he teased, but was surprised when she nodded.

"Yes! And I don't understand it. This was my Christmas present from my mother; I just got it this morning." She tapped it's face. "It hardly makes any sense."

"Is it a Muggle watch?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you go. You always say yourself that there's so much magic here that Muggle objects go haywire," Ron injected, but she shook her head.

"No, I know. But I put a charm on this so that the battery had an inducement of magic in its chemicals to balance out its surroundings. It can't demagnetize in one day." She looked up at Ron. "And what's even more odd is that it's stuck just like yours: at eleven fifty-nine." Her friend stared at her, blank-faced.

"Do _you_ even know what you're talking about?" he asked. She ignored him and pushed him back, leaning across his lap to Luna on his other side. The Ravenclaw, who had been keeping up a steady tumult of snowballs to compensate for her teammates' lack of fight, started and looked at Hermione as if she'd forgotten she was there.

"Yes, Hermione?" she asked dreamily. Hermione pulled her down just in time to save her from three soaring spheres of ice.

"Our watches aren't working, Luna. Do you know what time it is?"

The other girl cocked her head. "They're not working? Why not?"

"We don't know," Ron defended. "We didn't break them ourselves."

"Do you have the time?" Hermione asked again. Luna only shook her head and shrugged.

"I haven't any time on me at all. I don't own a watch. Never had a use for one." She looked at her two friends. "Can you see the moon?"

Hermione and Ron stared at Luna, exchanged confused looks, and then stared at her again.

"Pardon me?" Ron asked with sarcastic emphasis. Luna seemed unfazed.

"Can you see the moon?" she repeated.

Ron pretended to think extremely hard, looked up at the sky, looked at the ground, and then said in mock tentativeness, "I'm pretty sure I can. Yup, it's right there."

"Then you can tell the time," Luna replied matter-of-factly. She picked up a snowball and straightened over the mound, pulling back her arm and sending it out with tremendous force before ducking back down again. "So, can you see the moon?"

"Hermione! Ron! Luna!"

Ginny's cry sent the three friends darting out behind their mound, almost tripping over themselves in their hurry.

"What? What is it?" Ron panicked, looking around. He honed in on the tiny red head walking towards him front across the battlefield.

"'You' are what's it," she exclaimed. "We agreed there would be no magic! Immobilizing is not allowed."

Hermione frowned. "We didn't immobilize anything, Ginny."

Harry and Neville caught up to them alongside Ginny. "Then how do you explain this?" Neville asked. He pointed to a space between them were two snowballs sat motionless in the air, caught during the act of exploding into each other. Hermione's eyes widened.

"That wasn't any of us."

"Well, it wasn't us."

"Then who was it?"

"The moon." Everyone turned to look at Luna whose gaze was trained lazily towards the sky. "It was the moon."

"The moon?" Neville repeated. Ron rolled his eyes.

"She just keeps mentioning it. 'Can you see the moon'? 'Then you can tell time'!"

Hermione, however, was looking at Luna with an intensity that told of deep calculation and concentration. It was a look that Harry was familiar with seeing and one that he had learned to take great notice.

"Hermione? What are you thinking?"

She shook her head and held a hand up, a signal he often deciphered to be Hermione's way of saying that she was almost done figuring out the problem.

"Luna, please, what are you talking about?"

Luna Lovegood turned to meet the gaze of her five friends. "You wanted to know the time, and so I told you look at time itself. When she stops, everything stops. We aren't moving anymore; can't you feel it? The world has stopped." She spread her arms wide and her voice no longer sounded wistful and airy but determined.

Ginny looked scared. "What do you mean by 'time itself'?"

Luna pointed past them, into the sky. They obediently followed her finger and fixed their eyes onto the glowing orb poised above the Forbidden Forest.

"It's--,"

"—not--,"

"Moving."

It was true. The moon that so often graces the night, that travels on her journey through the sky from dusk to dawn, had halted in her quest and hung lifeless above the world. Her glow had dulled, her face had paled, and her magical glow, her light, had diminished, made her smaller and weaker. She was trapped, stuck at the moment right before she claimed her highest point in the heavens; a second before midnight.

"Get in the castle," Harry said, still staring at the moon, awestruck, like everyone else. "Everyone, get inside the castle now!" He turned away and pushed Ginny and Neville to get them going. The two staggered slightly, still hypnotized by the fearful moon, but then they regained their composure and started to jog and then run towards the castle. At the first sound of Harry's voice Hermione and Ron had left at a gallop, tearing across the school's tundra ahead of the rest of them. Harry grabbed Luna's arm and yanked her along. "Luna, let's go!"

It looked like they were running from nothing. Only the empty school grounds encased them, covered in a blanket of snow as they sped across it, leaving behind a vast stillness with the phantom moon. There were no alarm bells, no spells to be had, no monsters to escape from. There was only nothing and the six friends fleeing from it.

--------------

_The night, the night_

_The everlasting night_

_Black night, Dead light_

_The shadow that veils our sight_

_Stillness, unmoving_

_Silence protruding_

_Quiet the Queen with a song of soothing_

_Stay the day_

_Forbid it to come_

_Let the night and time become one_

_The night, the night_

_The everlasting night._

--------------

_He could hear their voices. They were emerging from the depths of his memory, resurrecting themselves in blurred recollection. _

_"Do you understand what I need of you, Machiavelli?" That voice was cold and horrible. Sinister. Evil. Laden with ice and hate for the world and its inhabitants._

_"Yes, my lord." The response was different, more human. It held the warmth of a mortal soul wedged deep into its baritone. "I understand completely."_

_There was a shaking of hands, a spell, a binding of spirits. Wizard's Oath._

_The scene changed but the voices remained. Christian was being lost in his memory, confusing instances with moments, mixing past and more past together. He could still hear Voldemort's voice, but now he could see a library with a pedestal in the center and a leather bound book laid out on its felt face._

_"You are the descendant of Niccolo Machiavelli, a man of great importance in his time. A man who allied himself with one of the most terrifying reigns in Italy. A man who was befriended by Cesare Borgia. I want the Borgia Fever. Bring me the Borgia Fever."_

_The title of the book was The Prince, but the symbols inside did not speak of modern day politics. They were strange symbols, like ancient runes, and they were arranged in such a way that it was clear what they intended to make._

_Miasma._

_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori._

_Love and honor for your country._

_The oldest saying in the book._

_Yet how can a man show love and honor for his country if the man was not even alive?_

----------------

_Draco_

I remember the muscles in my legs pumping furiously as I ran up the stone stairwell, Blaise tailing behind me. Machiavelli weighed like a hippogriff on my shoulder, but I fought against the weight and climbed up as fast as I could. If I lost even a second…

The top landing drew up to meet me and I found myself on level ground once again. The first thing I noticed was that all was seemingly still and quiet. The spells had ceased. I was afraid that the others had not been so lucky with time and that they were frozen as well. I moved over towards a bush close to the parapet and slid Machiavelli from my shoulder onto the stone. Blaise appeared from the stairs behind me, gasping for breath.

"Come on." I grabbed her arm and pulled her down next to me. "Stay here and don't make a sound. When you find a chance, run into the ballroom and on into the great hall. Get yourself out of this castle and into a carriage." I drew my sword and pulled out my wand. "Don't wait for anyone."

"What about Christian?" she asked, panting. "I can't just leave him behind."

I looked at her. "Yes, you can." And then I left her, not wanting to see the look of surprise on her face. It was a cold comment but a necessary one.

As I walked closer to the castle I noticed why everything had silenced. The wizards and witches were not frozen but had simply stopped in their attack. There were still many of them scattered inside the ballroom and on the balcony, but I could tell that a considerable amount were missing. About a third were gone, leaving an odd hundred or so people behind. Many of them were harboring severe wounds or aiding in healing. Some lay completely motionless on the floor. Others were silently crying into their hands or the shoulders of others. I glanced around and I understood their tears.

The ones who were missing were those killed by the gypsies and hooked by the staff.

There was a gasp to my right and I flinched. Sitting against the parapet was the old wizard who had been dressed as Merlin. His robes were singed terribly and his right leg was a bloodied mess. He was coughing violently, and I was surprised that he was still alive, being so old and so hurt.

"Goddamn foreigners," he grumbled. He clenched his teeth and tried to pull himself closer to the wall so he could lean on it. I let my blade slacken and knelt down next to him.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He laughed sardonically.

"Yes, lad, I'm perfectly fine. Of course not! I've half my leg blasted about his fucking tower and I couldn't even get a good Cruciatus Curse in on those minstrels. Far from all right, you fool." He dragged a sleeve across his brown to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes. "I dropped my wand over there; get it for me."

I quickly retrieved the old man's wand and brought it back to him. "What happened? Where did they all go?"

"They left," he groaned. "Everyone's spells suddenly stopped, that brood with the stick said something to the others and they all vanished, taking the ones they'd hooked with them." He grimaced as he bound up his leg with his wand. "They took my grandson." He coughed and turned to spit out blood. "Didn't you see them?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Lucky fool. You better check up on your family."

"Do you need help?"

"I may be old, boy, but I'm not helpless." And that was as much as I got. He turned his entire attention onto his injuries and I was left to enter the ballroom on my own.

The old man had said that their spells had stopped, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw inside.

If I were a poetic hero, (which I'm not), and if I cared to immortalize it, (which I don't), I would probably say that the scene suspended within the castle was something of extraordinary art. Spells of multiple colors were sparkling in different forms all over the places. Sparks, stars, beams of light, fluorescent smoke, they were thrown together in an abstract tapestry, each one flying towards a point at the center of the room.

I would have said that…if I cared to.

But I didn't care to because there was still something in the space at the middle of the room where all the spells were headed towards. It was three people, two of them standing, one of them lying on the floor. I squinted and tried to find a decent view between the spells. The man, the one who had played the harp, stood behind the bard, one hand resting on her shoulder. She, with her slitted eyes looking downward, stood with her feet apart and her arms straight down at her sides, one hand holding a silver dagger. And at their feet was someone lying with their white dress and dark hair splayed across the mosaic tile.

"Pansy!"

Darting into a room where jinxes, hexes, and Unforgivable Curses were interwoven with each other in the air isn't an intelligent thing to do. But, then again, I wasn't Hermione Granger.

"Pansy!"

I pointed my wand in front of me as I ran. "Reducto!" My spell jetted from my wand and before it could freeze it swept a few curses out of my way, creating a makeshift path in then glittering forest.

The bard and the harper looked up as I shouted and the man looked surprised, but the girl hardly looked fazed at all. Neither of them moved; they waited for me.

"Fucking bastards!" I brought my sword arm up and, as I drew within a good distance, leapt at the bard and whipped my arm around in one decapitating motion. The impact it made was phenomenal, sending a haunting shiver up my arm. "Agh!" I threw my wand aside and grabbed my other arm, trying to steady it. My sword hand did not collide with the bard but had been stopped a moment before. The harper had moved quickly and put himself between my blade and the girl, the golden harp strapped to his back; the shield that spared him from my blade.

"Insolent boy." He let go of the bard and lashed out in one fluid motion, grabbing for my sword arm and twisting it. I cried out and dropped my sword. He twisted harder and I dropped to my knees. "Just like you foolish mortals. When you are in pain you ask for deliverance, and when you receive deliverance you desire pain. An endless circle." He brought his other hand around and his fist smashed into my jaw, sending me face first into the floor next to Pansy's motionless body.

Blood and pain flooded my mouth and my vision flipped sickeningly between light and dark. Above me the bard and the harper spoke.

"He was confused. It was not his fault."

"He should not have attacked you, even if he doesn't know who you are. They're coming soon. I can feel Him approaching."

"He comes with an army of shadows at his back."

"We need to go. Are we going to take him?" Someone bent down and slipped their arms under Pansy, lifting her off the floor and out of my sight. I couldn't find the strength or the collectedness to stop them.

"No. We do not harbor Malfoys."

There was a pause and then powerful blast of air and sound that pressed into my back. I forced myself to look up to see the bard, the harper and Pansy gone.

"Draco!"

I flipped onto my back and pushed myself up. Running to me from the balcony was Blaise and Darius Nott. Blaise had left my cloak somewhere and Darius had a bandage wrapped around his head, the part covering his left side was soaking through with blood.

"Draco, are you okay?"

"Yes," I lied. Blaise came right to my side and grabbed my arm, pulling me up.

"We have to go, now!"

"Why?"

"Because…" Darius ducked under a hovering purple hex and stopped in front of me. "He's here." The paleness of his face and the shudder in his tone had nothing to do with the wound in his head.

"What's the matter? Who's here?"

"He is," Blaise whispered beside me. She turned to Darius and cowered closer to my arm. The sound of respect in their voice coupled with the fear expressed by their faces told me exactly who had finally arrived. The last guest of the ball. The most important one of all.

"You-Know-Who."

--------------------

It was as if he were surrounded by shadows; as if the moon itself hung directly over his head, casting black figures all around his feet.

He was no god; no more immortal than the wizards and witches he intended to kill. And yet he was not human; had no heart or soul. He was a monster through and through, created from blackest night and harvested to bring about destruction in his quest for power.

A power so great he was willing to sacrifice his own faithful followers to achieve it.

He looked up at the fortress. Strong and formidable. Remote and protected. Ancient. Magical.

The dementors flocked behind him, circling the fortress, hovering out past the cliff face and posting themselves along the top parapet. The goblins were nearby. The giants were coming. The army was assembling.

"Are you prepared for this, Malfoy?" He turned his head to look at the man standing a little ways behind him.

"I saw a Man on the stair. When last I saw He was not there. He was not there the other day. I wish, I wish He'd go away."

"Good boy."

---------------------


	26. The Way Part III

**Chapter Twenty-Six — The Way (Part III)**

What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world. –Robert E. Lee

**-------------------------**

Hermione ran into the entrance hall, slowing down to a stop, her breath coming down her lungs like icy blades and her face stinging with cold. She bent over double, hands on knees, and tried to regain her composure in the subtle warmth of the castle. All around her Neville, Ginny, Ron and Luna were just as tired as she; some of them bent over, like her, or else giving up all pretense and collapsing on the floor altogether. Hermione glanced up and saw Harry pushing the great door closed, the wind whistling loudly as it moaned into place. He gave it a final shove and it shut with a boom, cutting off the current of brittle air. He staggered away from it, tired and spent, and dropped onto the floor as well, gasping.

"Harry?" His name came out ragged from her lips and she swallowed before trying again. "Harry?"

With an exasperated sigh Harry dropped to lie on his back, his chest heaving as he stared into the high, vaulted ceiling. "Yeah?" he asked. He reached up and unclasped his cloak, allowing his throat some relief. Hermione straightened up and pushed the hair from her face.

"Harry, what was that? What happened out there?"

He pulled his glove off with his teeth and flexed the numb fingers of his right hand, still panting. "I—I don't know, Hermione. But I felt something out there…something strange."

From Hermione's right Ron sat up where he had fallen, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Just as long as it wasn't your scar," he breathed. Everyone expected Harry to nod or say something in agreement but when he was silent Ron's face went pale. "It—it wasn't your scar…was it?"

Harry sighed and started to shake his head, but then nodded…and then shook it again. "I don't know how to explain it. It was weird; not the same thing I'm used to, but it still felt familiar, in a way. It didn't hurt," he added quickly, looking up at his friends and noticing Hermione's worried stare. "But it didn't feel right either."

"It was the moon," Luna injected. Everyone turned to look at her and, to everyone's surprise, she looked strangely composed, not at all as haggard and tired as she should have been. "Wasn't it, Harry? It was the moon that you felt. You could tell that it wasn't moving."

Harry sat up and faced Luna, the look on his face a cross between confusion and thoughtfulness. "No, not exactly. It was Lord Vol-…I mean, You-Know-Who, there's no doubt about it." Ron ran a nervous hand through his hair and Neville physically shivered. "But he wasn't…I don't know. He wasn't angry or mad or any of the other things I've felt from him before."

"Can you describe it?" Ginny prompted. Harry shrugged.

"He was—well, he was moving."

"What?"

"I can't describe it any other way. I could sense him moving, traveling somewhere. He wasn't doing magic or anything and he wasn't really feeling anything strong; just moving." He looked up at his friends' curious faces and shook his head, indicating that he, too, did not know what to make of the situation.

Hermione thought a moment and then straightened up, shaking her head. "Harry, this is amazing."

"I know, Hermione, I realize—what?"

"Don't you understand?" She looked at him and then everyone else in turn. They all shook their heads or shrugged. She turned back to Harry, her face alight with excitement, but an excitement bred from fear. "Harry, the connection between you and the Dark Lord has opened wider, broader. Before you could only feel him when he was feeling murderous or performing potent spells. Now…Harry, now he doesn't have to feel strongly for the connection to happen between you two." She wrung her hands together, nervous. "Harry, the bond between you and the Dark Lord…it's _strengthening_."

-------------------

_Draco_

I allowed Blaise and Darius to hoist me to my feet, each one flanking my arms. We stood up together and I quickly began scanning the room, frantic and panicking with hysteria I was unfamiliar with. "Where is she?" I muttered to myself, my eyes darting around the room. "Where the hell is she?"

"Who?" Blaise asked. I glanced at her and took note of her nervous state and the feeble way she was crunching into herself. She looked as if she wanted to disappear as soon as possible, and I couldn't blame her. "Who are you looking for?"

"My mother," I said absently, surprised to hear the calmness in my voice. The Dark Lord was coming. He was coming and he would be here any moment. I wanted my mother; I needed my mother to be next to me. She needed to be next to me to help me through this…to watch as I finally met the Dark Lord.

Fear and excitement mixed dangerously inside my chest. I could not resist the anticipation. I could not deny the terror.

"Draco, we have to get out of here. We're too unprotected; too visible. We need to move." Blaise was tugging on my arm and Darius' with surprising strength, trying to back us into the crowd hovering outside in the garden. I stared at her in confusion, pulling my arm free.

"Why?"

"So we will not be seen!"

"Why wouldn't we want to be seen?" I suddenly asked, not quite sure about what I was saying. "Why wouldn't we want the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard of all time, to see us and acknowledge us?" Didn't she understand the great opportunity that was being presented? Yes, people had died and I had just lost--…but that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that He was coming; actually and physically coming to the castle and we would have the rare chance to meet him face to face. To see who it was that had accumulated so much power. We would see the face of the man that even Dumbledore was too afraid to face.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Draco. You've never been around him before…you don't know what it's like--,"

"You've seen him?" I asked suddenly, and dangerously, excited. She pursed her lips and shook her head, unwilling to reply. "Blaise, have you ever met The Dark Lord before?"

"There she is!" Darius had gripped my shoulder and pointed through the forest of light and sparks to a downtrodden group of people in the corner of the room. They all seemed to have been blasted off their feet and hurled at the corner where they were only just starting to rise from. Amidst them, perfectly visibly with her glowing hair, was my mother. She looked disheveled and wane, but it was nothing compared to the anger and hatred that claimed her feminine face. She had not seemed so terrified by the gypsies as furious.

I quickly grabbed onto Blaise by the sleeve and hurried to my mother, dragging her along with me as we swiftly wove in and out of the spells. I called out to her and she looked up, surprised. When she saw it was me a visible wave of relief crossed her face and she stepped forward to meet me…and then stopped.

And then I stopped.

And, behind us, Darius stopped.

And all around us everyone who was moving stopped.

I was standing before a still Disarming Charm, the red sparks and crackling appearance familiar. And I stared, amazed, as its glittering tail freezing over, solidifying along the entirety of the spell until it was nothing but glistening ice all over. Everyone watched with bated breath, and then the spell fell to the ground and shattered into a million pieces at my feet, shocking me backwards a little. I looked up into the face of my mother and saw her staring at me in something that seemed unnervingly like fear. All around her I could see faces of fear and curiosity, wondering what had just happened.

"Mother--,"

"Draco, look!" Blaise was pointing upward but there was no need to look up at what she had seen. Everywhere around us spells and hexes and charms were freezing over, cackling with their ice as they succumbed to the frozen sleep. And as they each turned solid they fell from their hovering standstill and began to shatter on the floor. There was one scream, and then another, and then people were screaming everywhere as they tried to dodge the falling ice. Even I cried out and pushed Blaise back into Darius, narrowly escaping a huge ice crystal that would have fallen right onto my head. The three of us huddled together, our eyes turned upward like everyone else as those of us caught within the tapestry of spells tried to weave our way out. Some of the foolish witches and wizards tried to help by whipping out their wands again and yelling spells again, but these were the foolhardy ones, for their spells stopped halfway to their destination and began to freeze over as well.

Blaise, Darius and I fought our way through, grabbing each other when we saw danger the others could not see, pushing one another ahead before we were caught to be sitting ducks. It was strange. I had never used any sense of teamwork before. Granted Quidditch was a team sport, but I was on the Slytherin team and its Seeker at that. Relying on other people wasn't in my nature. But it was the tactic I had to use to make it through in one piece. And, to be truthfully honest, it was remarkably easy. I didn't have to do everything myself; I could rely on the other two to help me.

It was strange.

It was so strange, in fact that I didn't even notice that our breath was coming out in little clouds before our faces.

But we made it to the edge of the room safely and pressed ourselves against the stonewall, trying our hardest to stay away from the raining ice. "What is going on?" Darius growled, turning his head away to shield his eyes from the flying debris. "This night just keeps getting worse!"

"Well, that's good, considering the newest arrivals," Blaise said, attempting sarcasm but unable to mask her quivering song. I looked out the balcony doors where she was looking and felt my stomach twist. I let out a shuddering breath and finally saw the little puff of air it created in the bitter cold.

Dementors. Hundreds of them. Dementors floating up over the parapet like ragged, ghostly shadows, bringing with them the cold of death. It was their presence that was freezing the spells; their shuddering intakes of breath that was sucking the warmth out of the air and replacing it with their nightmares. Despite myself I shivered.

I had mocked the Dementors existence before but that should not suggest that I am immune to them. The people began to back away from the creatures or else cower close to the ground, trying their best not to be noticed. I was afraid one of them would bend over a guest any second and take their fill of their soul, but they were being strangely resistant to the people. They got as close to them as they could possibly stand and then left it at that, allowing their fluttering robes to graze across the people and leave them shivering cold.

A huge combination of spells suddenly crashed at the center of the room and shocked everything to silence. The air before us was now clear but the mosaic flooring was covered in a thick layer of glittering glass and ice. When the crash had sounded Blaise had screamed and grabbed onto me, her fingernails digging into my skin. I would have gotten angry with her if my eyes had not drifted to the top of the stairwell…

…where my mother had mysteriously appeared…

…holding the door open for someone…

…in a black cloak…

…and red…

…slanted…

…piercing…

…eyes…

---------------------------

_It was the day before the school year started. The day before his seventh year of Hogwarts began. It was his last year; his final year._

_He was in his parent's room. His mother was sick again, his father at her side. He was standing next to his wife at the head, the same, electric blue eyes staring at him. Christian stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at his mother and remaining silent, just as he'd been taught since he was young._

_"Christian," his father said, speaking quietly. His mother was sleeping. "The Dark Lord has come to us."_

_"Yes, I know," was the reply. Was the expected reply. Because Christian wasn't supposed to have known that Voldemort had come to the Machiavelli mansion yet he was expected to have found out on his own._

_"He has asked us for a very large favor. He has asked me to do a very important thing."_

_Father, why were you talking like that? Like I was a child? Like I was too dumb to understand? Why did you treat him like that? Why did you treat me like that? Why did you treat me like that!_

_"We live to serve our Master," Christian answered habitually. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited._

_"Our reward for this task will be very great. We will be amongst the honored of His inner circle." A pause. "And he has asked that you be a part of it."_

_"He asked?"_

_"He wants."_

_No one would think to deny the Dark Lord what he wanted. "Then He shall receive. I would be honored to become one of his Death Eaters."_

_His father shook his head. "You are not to receive the Mark; not yet, anyway. But you will be asked to serve, and when the time comes you must do exactly what is asked of you."_

_"Yes, father."_

_"You are a brilliant boy and the Dark Lord has taken notice to your prowess. You will do great things, Christian. You will uphold this family's honor."_

_"I would love nothing more."_

_His father looked away from him then and down at his sleeping wife. "We are done here. Be sure you are ready for school tomorrow."_

_Christian bowed. "Yes, father."_

_He bent down and leaned over his wife, taking her limp hand in his own and staring into her slumbering face. "You must be faithful to him, Christian. You must always be faithful to your father."_

_Christian was walking out the door and he nodded. "Yes, father."_

_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori._

_Love and honor for you country._

_No! No! That was not the meaning…!_

_Schoolboy's translation…an English teacher misrepresenting…_

_What was the truth? What was the truth of the old lie?_

_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori…_

_It is sweet and fulfilling to die for one's fatherland…_

_But what, then, was the fatherland? But who, then, was the fatherland?_

----------------------------

"Whoa, Hermione, you can't just start making assumptions like that," Ron piped up, licking his lips nervously. "That—that's dangerous, if what you're saying is true. That's horrible."

"But it makes sense," Ginny injected, staring at Harry and not at Ron. "When I was being possessed by Tom Riddle it was the same thing. In the beginning I would completely black out when he took over my actions. But, as time wore on, the bond between us began to strengthen and soon I didn't have to surrender by entire consciousness to him. That was how I was able to discover that it really was me doing all those horrible things." Harry held her gaze and she held his. "It's the same thing. Their connection is getting stronger and therefore Harry can sense You-Know-Who even at mundane times."

Hermione nodded, pushing the wily curls of her hair away from her face. "Exactly. Harry, you have to tell Dumbledore, right away. He'll want to know about this immediately--,"

"No!"

Everyone jumped in surprise and turned to look at Luna. She was standing next to Hermione, her fists clenched at her sides and her leg trembling after she had stomped her foot. "That is not important! You are forgetting about the moon! You are forgetting about the most important thing right now!"

"Luna, this is important," Ron yelled back, his frustrations boiling over. "You haven't been around as long as the rest of us so let me explain: When Harry's scar hurts it means that we drop whatever it is we are doing and prepare to either be kidnapped, attacked or killed. That's how it's been since the beginning of our friendship and some stupid moon isn't going to change it, even if it is frozen in the sky."

"You don't understand!" Luna had suddenly spun on her heel and was dashing for the stairs, her cork necklace thumping against her collarbone and causing a hollow 'thud' sound. "You just don't know the important facts, do you? Childish children!" She darted up the stairs and turned on the first landing, disappearing swiftly down a corridor. Everyone else watched her go, confused and bewildered at her very immediate departure.

"That's a bit redundant, don't you think?" Ron called after her, annoyance apparent. "Childish children can't be children unless they're childish!"

"Oh, well said, Ron," Ginny grumbled, rolling her eyes at her brother. "You astound me with your cleverness."

"Enough fighting!" Hermione had stepped forward and gently pushed Ron's chest, forcing him to take a step back. He hadn't intended on going anywhere but the tiny gesture seemed to have stilled his wily temper. He grumbled and crossed his arms. "This isn't helping any of us. What we have to do right now is speak to Dumbledore."

"But what about Luna?" Neville asked, standing up and helping Ginny to her feet. "We can't just leave her by herself."

"You don't even know where that madwoman has run off to."

"Ron, stop it." Hermione turned to speak to everyone. "Okay, how about we split up: half of us will go with Harry to Dumbledore and the other half will go and find Luna? I feel a little guilty as well, letting her go off by herself."

"Well, it's not like we _forced_ her to leave," Ron mumbled.

"You two can go with Harry," Ginny offered with a shrug. "And we'll go look for Luna. I think I might know where she is."

"Where?" Harry asked, raising himself to his feet.

"Her dorm."

"You're not supposed to know where that is!"

"Oh, come on, Ron! Don't tell me you don't know where everyone's dormitory is." Ron held her gaze and then made a face, throwing up his hands in a way that said 'why would I know?'. Ginny burst out laughing. "But you're even a Prefect! Our dorms aren't exactly kept secret anymore. Even Hermione knows how to get to Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

"She does not!"

"Actually, I do, but that's not the point right now." Hermione had grabbed Ron's arm and was shooing Ginny and Neville away, hoping to stop the potential Weasley feud before it truly began. "We have things to do. You guys find Luna and we'll speak to Dumbledore. Meet us outside of the portrait when you get her, all right?"

"Right." Neville touched Ginny's arm and headed for the stairs. Ginny looked back at her brother, stuck her tongue out at him playfully, and then dashed after Neville along the same path as Luna had traced moments before.

"She's such a _brat_!"

"Yes, we know Ron. That's why we love her."

"And you."

"What did you say, Harry?"

Harry smiled and led the way to Dumbledore's office, momentarily forgetting the danger they were in. "Nothing."

The three friends traveled through the corridors and up changing stairwells and trick doors, each one keeping an eye out for the familiar hallway with the gargoyle statue waiting at its end. As they walked Harry glanced outside the passing windows, craning his neck a little to get a better view outside. From up here, in the castle, Harry could see that it had started to snow while they were outside, but the snow had not made it down to earth when everything had frozen over. The air surrounding Hogwarts was dotted with tiny snowflakes, each anxiously awaiting the moment when they would be free to continue their graceful fall. He looked up at the moon again. It was so strange…the moon did not move in the night, but it seemed completely different now that it was truly stuck in the heavens.

"Just up there, Harry?" Hermione confirmed, indicating the sharp corner before them. Harry nodded.

When they turned the corner, however, and finally found the trademark corridor Harry stopped walking, his hand darting out to stop his friends. Ron and Hermione followed suit, but not because Harry had stopped them.

"Who are they?" Ron asked, staring wide-eyed, mouth unceremoniously hung open. Harry shrugged, green-eyes puzzled.

"I can't say that I know, Ron. They're not exactly the crowd I tend to hang around with."

Hermione was politely surprised although trying very hard to hide it. "But…what on earth are they doing here? At Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged. "Once again, I can't say that I know, what with me not liking to hang around with a crowd like them and all."

Ron, still bewildered, nodded absently. "Huh," was his only reply.

Standing in front of Dumbledore's gargoyle, like statues of their own accord, stood a dozen odd men and women, each wearing clothes terribly unfit to be worn during the winter and black, tribal-looking markings covering their skin. Their hair was raven black, their eyes were just as dark, and their expression were absolutely and completely blank.

"Harry," Hermione said, speaking calmly and quietly, "I think—I think they're _gypsies_."

----------------------

_Draco_

The Dark Lord.

He was tall; taller than I had thought him to be. My mother was not a short woman, but he towered over her, more so than just a head. He wore a flowing black cloak, like I had imagined he would, with the hood turned up so one could not see his face save for his eyes. They were so bright, to be seen from so far away.

He moved like any other person would move. He did not float or glide or hover above the floor like a ghost. He walked with one foot in front of the other, his body reacting to the movement as anyone else's would. When he held up his hand to beckon towards people unseen behind him it was an ordinary hand: long-fingered and slim. They did not move with a particular grace and they were not agile and crafty and unique. They were just regular, slender hands that moved mundanely, calling forth a person just as any other would do so.

No…not just one person; and not just any person. Or people.

It was my father.

_My father!_

And Bellatrix Lestrange.

And two others, a man and a woman. The woman was pale and sickly looking with long, brown hair graying in her age but a face that was beautiful despite her illness. The man looked exactly like Christian. They were his parents.

_Christian's parents!_

They all stood behind him like some dark, sinister posse, but they were not don as Death Eaters would have been. They wore robes that were no different from everyday garb. My father wore his usual black suit and Bellatrix wore a black dress with a low neckline and dreary plainness and Christian's mother wore a long-sleeve, turtleneck dress to shield her from the cold and Christian's father wore a black collared shirt, a black tie and black trousers.

Nothing absolutely special.

They entered into the hall behind the Dark Lord, each one acknowledging my mother. She nodded to them in turn but her focus was completely on the amazing figure before her. The only person who mattered in the room.

I held my breath as the dark hood slowly scanned the ballroom.

So this was it. This was the huge mystery of the night. This was the spectacular surprise that none of us could figure out. This, the Dark Lord's appearance in the wake of a deadly gypsy rampage, was the unknown, holocaustic event of the evening. I had a stale, metallic taste in my mouth as I thought of all the people who had died during the gypsy woman's psychotic spell casting and wondered what those people must have done to cause the Dark Lord to send foreign mercenaries to a Christmas ball. What had people like Millicent and Madame Parkinson and…Pansy…done to anger this colossal man? Why had he gotten rid of them?

The hood had stopped scanning the crowd and now turned to my mother, staring down at her upturned, waiting face. Even from my distance I could hear his words loud and undeniably clear.

"Narcissa," it hissed, saying her name and letting it slither across his tongue, "where are the rest of _my guests?_"

----------------------------

_Christian was not an innocent. _

_His mind was a mess, his soul was a mess, his heart was a mess. What else was there to keep him pure? He knew that Blaise was no virgin; she had given her maidenhead to some undeserving bloke during this past summer, when her hormones were too high and a pretty face winked at her. She didn't even know his name. He hated her for it, but that shouldn't have suggested that he was so inexperienced._

_Christian knew he could charm and could lure any girl to his side. He knew he was handsome and used it to his best advantage. After all, life in the shadows could get very, very lonely._

_But he was not a ruthless glutton on the matter. There had only ever been two girls, no more, and he had treated them with the utmost respect and gentleness: a woman's body should never be handled any other way. He had known the girls' names and their faces and what their hopes and dreams were. He had romanced them and had been sincere, and when he had kissed them he had done so with genuine caring._

_He had never touched a girl who was unwilling and had never forced anyone into anything. He could not imagine why any man would want to hurt a female; they were so fragile and yet so powerful and they were soft and warm and comforting._

_Usually Christian was immune to his solitude and relished in his anonymous demeanor; but when the loneliness became too lonely he had sought out feminine company…or else it had found him._

_The first was on his sixteenth birthday. She was a few months younger and a Hufflepuff, with long, golden hair painted with hues from the sun. He had met her in the greenhouses and she had been flirtatious and coy. They had talked for hours before departing. The next night, for his birthday, he had asked and she had met him in the confines of his bed._

_The second was during this last summer, in his secluded home of Russia. She was the daughter of one of the family servants, someone he had seen all his life but never took notice too. She had curly, black hair and dancing grey eyes. It was late night and he had been sitting in his room at his desk, writing for no apparent reason at all…just writing to pass the time. She had come in to bring him new linens for his bed. She was unusually shy and nervous, fumbling about with her work. She was taking much longer than usual and Christian had decided to help her with her chore: she was having trouble gathering together the old sheets. He had gotten up, walked to her side, and helped her. In not but a few seconds she was on him, suddenly kissing him and clinging to him. He had been surprised and pleasantly taken aback. She had not left his room until the morning._

_Both memories were sweet ones and some of the rare few moments in his life when he was not completely miserable. He could still recall the scent of both girls, the Hufflepuff was fresh with strawberries and the serving girl was heady with mint and clean soap. Both were beautiful, both were satisfying, and both were dully satisfied._

_But neither had expected anything else from Christian._

_They had both known it to be a one time thing; one night of sweet passion and that was it. No love, no lingering affair. They did not expect him to fondle them and care for them and pine for them when it was over. They had known, without him saying anything; that it was just once. It was just the act and not the feeling._

_Christian had always hated that they assumed. He had always hated that they did not expect more from him._

_Because now, he did not know if he had anything left to give._

------------------------------

Draco

The gypsies weren't sent from the Dark Lord.

The gypsies weren't supposed to have been present in the first place.

The Dark Lord was furious when he had heard. They were not supposed to have been at the ball at all. He did not know who they were. They were not to have taken anyone away. He was furious because people were missing. A lot of people were missing. People, he said, that he needed for this night. He asked who had sent for the gypsy minstrels. My mother told him that it was Madame Parkinson. The Dark Lord asked where Madame Parkinson was. My mother told him that she, too, was taken by the gypsies. She said that they had killed people with their green light and, when they disappeared, the people disappeared as well.

The Dark Lord was angry.

And so he took it out on my mother.

From my place in the ballroom I watched, with at least two hundred other guests, as my mother writhed and screamed and squirmed on the floor at the Dark Lord's feet, her piercing screams echoing tenfold from the rafters.

I was haunted. I was aghast with revulsion and disgust.

I was terribly intrigued.

Why was it so alluring to me, to watch my mother being tortured? Why was his wand so amazing, the way it pointed at her and caused her so much pain without touching her at all? Why was it that I wanted to say that the Cruciatus Curse was beautiful? Why was I not turning my head away and closing my ears like Blaise? Why was I not about to be sick like Darius? Why did I keep staring?

My mother was so fragile.

And then it stopped. He had moved his wand tip away and she was suddenly still, breathing heavily at the top of the stairs and sobbing. Sobbing! She was actually sobbing.

"My lord…" she whimpered, lying on her back, her iridescent gown splayed about her, draping over the top step. "My lord, I am sorry--,"

And then he did it again, his arm out-stretched rigidly in front of him and the invisible spell coming out of its tip, agonizing my mother. The people could hardly take the ruthlessness. Guests were crying and they couldn't even feel it. But I felt it. I could feel it as she pounded the tiles with her fists and tore her throat to sheds with scream after pleading scream. I could see Bellatrix watching with her eyes lined thick with kohl. I could see Machiavelli's parents watching with cold detachment. I could see my father staring at the far wall, unaware that his wife was being ripped apart over and over and over and over…

The wand was lifted a second time, the pain was ceased a second time, and the crowd waited with bated breath a second time. Without even realizing it I had pushed my way through the crowd, almost coming to the foot of the stairs, as my mother was tortured. Blaise was with me, for I had grabbed her wrist and dragged her along, but Darius was left behind near the wall. My neck hurt as I stared upward, hoping to glimpse the face of this ruthless man.

This ruthless creature.

The only person I had ever seen that was crueler than my own father.

"Your carelessness and Zhyerra's stunt have wasted my time. I offered the both of you the most valuable gift and you discarded it. For that you will be punished."

I blanched. So being tortured was not punishment enough?

"My lord, I am sorry. I beg—I beg your forgiveness…" She sounded like she was dying. The dark hood seemed to contemplate her for a moment and then the wand hand lowered completely.

"But you have not betrayed me as Parkinson has betrayed me. I will keep you with my chosen and I will find her and make sure she will die at my feet, fully aware that she dies as a traitor." The hood titled upward, thoughtful; the voice was airy. "I am a picky Purgatory." And then he turned and addressed his waiting audience, his valiant speech tantalizing and hypnotic:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I beg your sweet forgiveness. I have come at a most inopportune time and have ruined your good night. Believe me, were I to have the means, I would have been here sooner. To see all of your lovely, yuletide faces would have brought no. Greater. Joy.

But alas, I am not a man free to roam the world and travel from place to place on my own whim. I must do such things in the utmost secrecy to keep my dreaded enemies at bay. Have any of you ever been through such trials? Oh, but probably no, not any of you. I forgot; this is a ball for the rich and wealthy clans of Great Britain. This is a ball for the pure of…heart. Come, my friends. Let us join these people in their celebration…

"I see that Madame Parkinson has worked very hard to bring this castle up to standards. This mosaic tiling is ancient, a design original to Pellinore's court. Do you see it? Or have any of you not even realized the art that you have been so selfishly standing on? Move, woman. See there? That is Arthur, himself, standing at the edge of the lake while Merlin points his staff towards the water. Over there, near the wall, is the hand of the Lady of the Lake, offering up the legendary Sword Regalia so that Arthur may rule all of Britain. Just imagine, a sword to rule all of Britain and it was handed over to a boy who was no more than fifteen years of age. Does that seem fair to you?

"I see your faces and I am saddened. Why so glum, my dear colleagues? Why so miserable? Have you come running down to the Christmas tree to find nothing but coal? Poor children, you know nothing of Santa Claus."

He was more than halfway down the staircase now, my father, Bellatrix and the Machiavellis following a few steps behind. I was astounded to see my father moving with such fluidity. He was still mad, obviously, and he would not take his eyes off the wall yet his steps were measured and sure. Behind them, still lying on the landing floor, was my mother, nothing more than a heaving pile of glittering blue and purple.

He was so much closer now and yet I still could not see his face. There was still a thick wall of people separating me from the bottom stair, but I was too afraid to step forward. At my side Blaise was cowering into my arm.

"Draco, Draco we should leave! We could slip out to Christian and go back to the coast--,"

"Shut up."

"But the Dementors! Draco, the Dementors!" She was whispering in anguish but I didn't give a shit about the Dementors. I had seen them before. I had never seen the Dark Lord before.

"But I digress. I must admit, I came here for a very important reason. A reason, I hope, that will help change the world forever."

He pointed into the crowd and, like the following shadows of cattle, we all turned our heads to see whom he had chosen. It was Madame Bulstrode, standing perfectly conspicuous by the glass doors. She did not look scared or surprised…or, if she did, she hid it well.

She already knew what being pointed out meant. She did not have to ask. She headed directly for the staircase, parting the crowd like a biblical sea: all she had to do was approach and they would shrink away. We watched her go with excited anticipation. Why her? Why the Bulstrode witch? Had she done something wrong? Had she done something right? Had she done anything at all? Was she just lucky? Was she just unlucky?

She approached the stairs and dipped low before him. I expected her to only curtsy, but she dropped completely to her knees and reached forward, kissing the hem of his robes before standing up again. She did it all with a wonderful grace, her beautiful face serene and calm.

Or, at least, upholding the mask of being serene and calm.

The Dark Lord beckoned her to stand on the step below him and she did so, turning around so that she faced the crowd. And then I saw it…the flicker of uncertainty that crossed her face…and I realized that she did not know why she was there. She did not know why she was chosen. She was just as confused as the rest of us.

That was when I knew that this night, this hideous, murderous, moonless night, would never end.

------------------------

"They're awfully stern looking," Ron observed, squinting at the foreigners. "And a bit underdressed, if you ask me. Aren't gypsies supposed to wear seven layers of skirts and bright-colored vests and stuff like that?" he asked Hermione. She shrugged.

"Yes, the Moors and the Roma do, but I do not think these people are the conventional gypsies."

Harry frowned. "Is there such thing as the conventional gypsy?"

"You still need to talk to Dumbledore, Harry, and we're wasting time."

He turned on her, face indignant. "Hermione, there are gypsies guarding his door! What do you want me to do, just push right past them?"

"I'll do it then," she hissed back. He glared at her and frowned. She knew, full well, that he wouldn't let her anywhere near a group of dark-looking strangers. "We'll be right behind you," she assured him and pushed him forward.

"Thanks," he spat back sarcastically and proceeded forward.

He walked evenly and slow, watching the gypsies watch him all the while. True to Ron's observation the six men and six women did not wear clothes familiar to the traveling people they had learned in History of Magic. Instead of layers of brightly colored skirts, the women wore only one, floor length skirt of deep brown, a black, beaded belt hanging loosely from their hips. Their tops looked little more than a light brown piece of fabric, wrapped around their bodies and clipped at the shoulder in the traditional Roman style. The men wore breeches and tunics of the same brown color, and each one had a beaded, black belt strapped across their bodies, a quiver of arrows peeking out from their backs. As Harry came closer he noticed that, alongside having a variety of different tattoos amongst themselves, each gypsy had a black moon upon their person: the men had it on their necks and the women had it underneath their left eye.

"I take it back," Ron whispered from behind. "They don't look stern, they look terrifying."

"Ron, please. They can hear you."

"Er, excuse me," Harry murmured, stopping in front of the man and woman standing right in front of the gargoyle. He was surprised at how small they were. The two in front of him were at least half a head shorter and the tallest in the group was almost as tall as Harry, himself. They all seemed dwarfed by Ron. "Could I possibly get through?"

They both stared at him, blank-faced, and the woman, (more likely a girl), cocked her head to the side and studied his face.

"You have the scar," she said quietly, her words heavily accented. "The scar of lightening. You are the boy who lived." The other gypsies turned to stare and Harry felt his face grow hot with the familiar embarrassment.

"Yeah, my name is Harry Potter and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind letting us through--,"

"You cannot speak with your Headmaster right now," the man said. "He is busy."

"He is?"

"With our Chieftess," the girl explained. "She has come to the only man He has ever feared to speak of important matters. Tonight has been his doing."

Harry felt his insides twist as Ron's audible gasp sounded behind him. "He was behind the moon? But how? A person can't stop time; how could Lord Vol-,"

"But he is not exactly a person, now is he?" the boy interrupted. Harry looked over to him, knowing that he was right. Unconsciously he reached up and rubbed his scar, remembering the feeling of it burning when Voldemort was feeling murderous. He wondered what it had meant earlier, when the Dark Lord was moving, and he wondered even more about which direction he was moving towards. Was he move closer or farther away…

"Don't worry," the girl said, breaking into his thoughts. "He does not have a plan for you…yet. He must first deal with the most wayward of his flock." She suddenly looked sad. "Don't trust anyone. Don't trust each other. If couriers come, couriers know. Houses must stand together, not fall divided. Your deal--,"

"Will seal your fate," Hermione suddenly finished. Harry and Ron both turned to stare at her, but she was looking at the girl, brow furrowed deeply. "How did you...how did you know that?" she asked, her voice growing high in confusion. Then her eyes widened at a thought and she pointed at the girl. "Were you the one who sent me the--,"

But the girl was shaking her head. "No, I was not responsible for that. I only know what is happening now and not about what is going to happen in the future. Speak to your friends of your concerns. They are the corner stone of your survival now."

Puzzled, Hermione turned to Ron and Ron turned to Harry and Harry turned to Hermione. They looked at each other, all three having already known this.

"After all," the male gypsy started, "everything is going to change…right…now."

----------------------

Draco

"Pure blood," the Dark Lord suddenly announced, pacing behind Madame Bulstrode like a hawk to prey. "The cornerstone of your hierarchy and power. Blood that falls back through eons, kept purely magical through each generation. Untouched by time and strengthened by barriers. Blood untainted. Blood that is strong.

"Did you know that, in theory, a pureblood can be considered stronger than a half-blood or mudblood? Yes, there is the changing factor that people can make themselves stronger…like me, a mere _half-blood_. But purebloods are born with an advantage. Their line is stronger; their tolerance of magic is higher. With each passing generation the blood grows thicker with magic. It takes stronger spells to affect it, more potent poisons to penetrate it. The lasting power of pure blood is exceptionally powerful. Such an advantage and most of you cannot even begin to comprehend the magnificence you possess."

He scanned the avid crowd thoroughly. It looked like he was making contact with every single person in the room and I shivered when I thought his eyes rested on mine. Dark slashes were all they were, but they were tantalizing and fearsome. "Tonight is Christmas night," the Dark Lord suddenly said from the stairs, "and it seems that the world has stopped in favor for it to never end. Well, at least our lovely, little British Isle has taken a break in time to witness this event.

"I am saddened. Here, in this glittering ballroom, on this night of miracles, all of you have gotten dressed up, piled into carriages and traveled from all over Britain, Ireland, Spain, France, Belgium, Germany and Italy to attend this, a Christmas Ball. No gown was too expensive, no cosmetic too extravagant, no adornment too gaudy for this, your precious ball." He reached forward and held up a lock of Mrs. Bulstrode's hair, sifting it through his fingers. Like threads of silk is slipped through his pale digits, shining like satin, as intangible as water. "Hair like a noble. Hair like a royal. Primped and polished to absolute perfection. This is the symbol of your purity." His tone darkened and he pulled back his hood.

A face…

…the face…of nightmares.

This was the poster boy for complete submersion into power.

"This is all you have done with your gift."

Behind him Machiavelli's father was staring right at me, his blue eyes shockingly apparent. I tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the Dark Lord and his right hand reaching into his sleeves and unsheathing his wand once more. A long wand, ebony in color, conformed perfectly to his hand.

"For years I waited, abandoned in a haven I had sought, for my faithful servants to find me and bring me back to the power I once owned. And for years I had anguished over the loneliness I had been succumbed to." His eyes narrowed and I felt my chest overflow with an oncoming dread. Around us the Dementors drifted in closer. "You were willing to dress pretty and venture miles for a Christmas Ball and yet you never once tried to look for me." He gripped his wand tighter. "This is the character that you dub as pureblood."

He grinned.

"I will finally put that blood to good use."

In the split second before he did it we all simultaneously realized his horrible intentions. People screamed, women shrieked and turned away. Blaise grabbed my shoulder and buried her face into my robes. But I watched. I watched in a sick, almost fascinated horror as the Dark lord flicked his wrist and, from three meters away, slit Madame Bulstrode's throat.

She sputtered, her head lolled back and she grabbed at her throat, trying vainly to catch the blood pouring from her. Like a garnet waterfall it spilled forward, staining her gown and splattering on the floor. Some people in the audience retched; some even vomited. I felt my gut twist, but that was all. Millicent's mother had just been murdered and the most I could do was crane my neck for a better look.

I watched, entranced, as the Dark Lord knelt down and pulled a glass phial from his sleeve, smiling manically, and held the phial under the woman's throat. It spilled into the phial, around it, onto his hands and sleeves, and still he smiled. He waited until the glass was filled and then stood up, holding it up in the air for everyone to see. I stared at the dripping red, at the darkened red, at the red doused glass, and the red hand and the red sleeve. The cold taste of metal filled my mouth as I stared.

"Pure blood. One of the most powerful potion ingredients and yet rarely ever utilized. When used the potion it creates is nigh unstoppable. Spells cannot touch it. Remedies cannot heal it. It's holding power is near absolute. Its potency is guaranteed fatal." He grinned. "The keystone to my success."

Behind him my father stared blankly ahead, unfazed by the spectacle. I felt a chill and noticed the Dementors still closing in.

Beside my father Bellatrix smiled, a smile that said she held a special little secret and couldn't wait to tell all of us.

"With this I shall create a poison of outstanding power; a potion centuries old and decades strong. We shall live in a new world, a world where the weak will be executed so that the strong may flourish. A world where power alone exists…power alone thrives.

"They say God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. I will recreate the world in six days and on the seventh day I will not rest but open my arms to my creation and laugh. They say God created man and from man made woman. I will create gods, and from gods I will make goddesses. They say that God has died, God has risen and God will come again. I have died, I have risen and I will be here forever." His eyes widened then and his smile threatened to split his face in half. "I am the new God."

Screams erupted everywhere. Cries of agony and pain filled the ballroom. The cold was so internally piercing that I doubled over and yelled: yelled for deliverance, yelled for forgiveness, yelled for mercy.

The Dementors were feeding.

Kiss after deathly kiss was performed on the unsuspecting guests. Souls were being ripped from bodies, sucked from the human flesh into the roaring, gaping mouths of the creatures. They were taking men and woman, adults and children. No one was immune to their touch. I watched, frozen in complete horror, as a Dementor bent low over an elderly woman and tore the soul from her lips, oblivious to her fragile, flailing body and her pitiful screeches. Everywhere I looked I was more shocked.

It was a chaotic feeding frenzy. I could not begin to imagine what was happening. Why would he do this to us? Such a horrible destiny, to roam the earth as a hollow shell; to live without actually living. He was doing this to the people, doing this to _his _people. I turned and tried to run but could not get my feet to move and somehow I had detached myself from my body and was watching the horrific scene from miles away. All these people, dressed in their best robes and faces painted to smile and they were screaming now, scampering and falling and lying on their backs in pathetic agony as they awaited the dreadful fate presented to them. On the stairs Bellatrix Lestrange was laughing out loud, head thrown back. Christian's mother had closed her eyes and was not watching and Christian's father tried to remain as detached from the battle as he could. My father did not change. My mother had twisted away on the landing, her back to us all. In the far concerns of my mind I wondered if Christian had remained gratefully overlooked out in the garden.

And then one of them was before me, looming over my helpless existence, ready to take its fill. I did not scream. I did not flail. What good would it have done? It was my turn. I was going to be sucked dry, left empty. Just a shell. I thought of Pansy and my mother. I thought of my father and my mother and both of them together. I thought of Pansy and me together. I thought of Pansy and me separated. I thought of Blaise and I thought of Millicent and I even thought of Machiavelli. I thought of Dumbledore and Snape and McGonagall.

I thought of Hermione Granger. I thought of Ronald Weasley.

I thought of Harry fucking Potter.

The punishment for all the things I had ever done was about to be bestowed in the worst of ways…

…and then…

…the Dementor passed me by.

It overlooked me. It had sensed me, had hovered right above me and had not taken me. It simply went away.

Then another one came…

And another…

And another…

And each time I was…spared…

"No! Please!"

Blaise's screaming and pleading jerked my attention to where she was convulsing on the floor, the Dementor's proximity too much for her to handle.

I didn't think, I just did. I leapt at Blaise and rolled on top of her, hugging my body close and using my huddled back as the feeble shield between her and the creature. The Dementor stopped its advance and backed away. I looked up, sat back and cradled the shivering Blaise to my chest, unknowingly rocking her back and forth, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her tears.

Why?

I don't know.

I will never really know.

I will never forget that night. I will never forget the fear that gripped me during those agonizing few minutes. I will always hear those screams at night and I will always know where they came from. Those moments were meant to haunt me, to plaster themselves in my mind and reappear every time I close my eyes. I will never forget. I will never forget the grotesque, disgusting vision of people dying.

No, not dying.

Worse.

They took Darius Nott and Baddock too. I watched Flint try to fight them off, but after three had descended on him he gave up. I watched as the first year, Graham Pritchard, fell down right in front of me, eyes wide open and face stone grey. He wouldn't stop twitching. I even watched them take Crabbe and Goyle.

No, Vincent and Gregory.

No, now they were No One and Nobody.

I watched my friends disappear. Vanish. In a puff of smoke. In a puff of scream. Poof, all gone. The years I had spent with them meant nothing. I _knew _those people and yet that saved no one. I had gone to school with them, played Quidditch with them, shared a dormitory with them. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

That was when I realized it was all over.

Everyone was lying lifeless on the floor, the Dark Lord and his chosen stood safely on the dais, the Dementors hovered, scattered, about the room and the tiles were stained with blood where the soulless bodies had fallen on the shards of frozen spells.

And I sat alone amidst it all, Blaise clutched tightly in my arms and my face buried deep into her soft hair, tears branding my cold, unfeeling flesh as I rocked her back…and forth…and back…and forth…


	27. The Way Unwinds

**Chapter Twenty-Seven— The Way Unwinds**

Harry stared at the gypsy man, brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "What's changing?" But it was the girl who spoke.

"Might I ask you something, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Er—sure."

The girl tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "Why is it that the Hogwarts houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin are always at odds with each other? Why is the rivalry between the lion and the snake so infamous?"

"Why do the brave hate the ambitious?" the boy chimed in. Harry just stared at them both, at a complete loss for words. He hadn't ever thought about it. If he delved into his memory he could recall not wanting to be in Slytherin because it was famous for dealing out the most Dark Wizards of any house in Hogwarts. Not only that, but Voldemort was a product of the house and so was Malfoy. He had hated the house before coming to the school and then more so afterward.

"There are some people I don't like that live in Slytherin," he answered. "But there are some that are in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well. I have my own personal dislike for Slytherin. Maybe all Gryffindors do." He didn't intend to sound defensive and mean but he couldn't help it. The loyalty towards his house was hard to ignore.

"You said people," the girl told him. Harry nodded.

"Yeah…."

She stared at him. "You called the Slytherins people."

"That's because they are people."

"And do you think people should be murdered?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the pair, taking a step back and frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you think that people should be murdered? Irregardless of their house, of their family, of their intentions or morals or ideas or personalities. Irregardless of whether their blood is pure or not, do you think they should be murdered?"

Beside him Ron and Hermione was staring in shocked silence. Harry, himself, wished he had not been given the responsibility to answer. "No," Harry said, keeping his eyes level with their piercing dark ones. "No, I don't think they should be murdered. No one should be." He swallowed hard, trying hard to believe his own words. "For any reason."

The girl nodded slowly and the boy turned to look at the moon. "I agree," he said. "I do not believe that they should have been murdered either."

"Who?" Harry asked. "Who was murdered?"

But before he could get an answer the stone gargoyle behind them started to move.

"Here, Mr. Potter. Ask our Chieftess. She can give you better answers than we can." The girl turned to glance at Hermione. "Better answers to mysterious questions."

Brimming with excitement, the three friends waited with bated breath as the stone gargoyle moved away to reveal two people coming down the revolving stairwell. One was the white-haired Headmaster of Hogwarts wearing his usual bright robes and his half-moon spectacles. Next to him stood a woman of nearly half his height, with long black hair that was plaited down her back and skin that shone gold against her black eyes. She wore robes with the same designs as the waiting gypsies, although she wore seven layers and a beaded band around her head. She was aged but still pretty, and Harry felt a shiver travel up his spine at her presence.

"Harry, I thought it was your voice I heard from upstairs," Dumbledore said, smiling at him as they continued to descend. Harry felt embarrassed.

"Was I really that loud, professor?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Actually, no. I was just taking credit away from where credit was due. It was really her Grace here who heard you, and she has impeccable hearing."

"My name is Madame Tsion," the tiny woman said, bowing low to Harry. He quickly inclined his head, not knowing whether he wanted this regal looking lady bending low on his behalf. "And I am deeply honored to meet you, Harry Potter."

"Oh, uh—er…no, not at all. I'm honored to meet you," he stammered, finding her dark eyes distracting. It was the same feeling he got when he used to look at Muggle paintings and statues, when, no matter where you stood, the eyes would seem to follow you everywhere. "I'm sorry if we interrupted you--,"

"Yes, you did actually interrupt us, Harry," Dumbledore said from the stairwell, smiling kindly and eyes twinkling. "But it was an interruption I am glad you made. We need to speak." He turned then so that his eyes also encompassed Ron and Hermione. "Would the three of you please join us upstairs?" He swept his arm outward and guided them onto the stairwell, turning back and nodding politely to the gypsies still waiting at the entrance. "We will only be a few more moments, I promise."

The boy and girl, who seemed to be the only gypsies who spoke, shook their heads respectfully. "Please, take your time. We find it an honor to protect your meeting."

Dumbledore tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Really? I never liked it, personally. I always got so tired of standing and I was usually very hungry." He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the trio. "Let's go on up then, shall we?"

Up they spiraled until they reached Dumbledore's office door. He pushed it open and beckoned them to follow him inward. Madame Tsion waited by the door and allowed Harry, Ron and Hermione to enter before her. Harry nodded and moved farther into the room, Ron following tentatively behind. Madame Tsion watched him pass by, her eyes flicking up to his red hair and then taking in the rest of his lanky body. He towered far above her, her head barely grazing his chest. "You are a pureblood," she suddenly said to him. He stopped walking and turned to her. In front of him Harry glanced back.

"Er…yes, I am," Ron answered. "How did you know?"

"I can see it on you. I can smell it in your veins."

Ron's eyes widened in surprise and semi-disgust. He glanced up at Harry who only offered him a shrug. Beside him Madame Tsion smiled kindly. Dumbledore scratched his nose and adjusted his spectacles.

"I find it strange," the Chieftess continued. "That you, a pureblood, from a pureblood line, was not amongst his guests tonight." She looked suddenly sad. "You are now a rare breed, young boy. A sad happenstance."

"Harry," Dumbledore said. Harry turned away from Ron and approached Dumbledore by his desk. The Headmaster was giving off an air of nonchalance, but his eyes looked tired and wane and very, very depressed.

"What is it, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore sat down in his high-backed chair and rested his hands on the armrests. "Madame Tsion has come to me with some very disturbing news about Lord Voldemort…"

--------------------------

Ginny pounded on the door to Luna's dorm room. "Luna, come on! Let us in! We're here to help you."

"Ginny, quiet," Neville urged, trying to calm her down. "You're making an awful lot of noise." Ginny stopped her pounding and turned to glare at him. After bribing and then threatening a third year to let them in and then forcing the four occupants of the entire dormitory out, Ginny did not feel inclined to be considerate and in no obligation to be quiet. "We're not even supposed to be in here!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes at him. "Geez, you sound like my brother." She turned her attention back to the door and pounded on it twice more. "Come on, Luna. I know my brother was being an idiot, but we're here to help you. Just tell us what you're doing!"

The door didn't budge.

Neville threw up his hands. "She's obviously not going to let us in so how about we leave and wait for the others back in _our _dormitory? She probably doesn't even need our help."

The door suddenly swung open to reveal a very somber looking Luna Lovegood, her eyes locked onto the grinning Ginny Weasley.

"Care for a few friends?" Ginny asked brightly, nudging Neville in the side. He winced and smiled as well.

"Er, yeah."

Luna glared at them through her dazed eyes before turning around and motioning for them to follow. "Fine. Just don't mess up my room."

Ginny and Neville followed in and found themselves amidst a very strange and organized mess. The sleeping areas of the four other girls were clean and nearly empty where Luna's bed was surrounded by _everything_. She had stacks of _The Quibbler_ creating three-foot tall columns around her bed and odd-looking knick-knacks and doodads covering her trunk and her side table. There were multi-colored streamers hanging from her four-poster that curled and lengthened, and her bed sheets were hidden beneath an enormous quilt of the Ravenclaw eagle made in every shade of blue.

Ginny and Neville were somewhat taken aback by the display; so much so, actually, that Neville grabbed Ginny's arm and stopped her walking. "Be careful," he said, completely serious. "You could get lost."

"Right," she whispered back, and then smiled as Luna turned to face them and hopped onto her bed. "So, what were you doing in here, Luna? Because, you know, Harry actually wants us to--,"

"To stop the moon completely is impossible. Wizards and witches have been trying to harness its power for years and have never been able to freeze it in the sky. Potions and spells were made to use the moon as a catalyst but none can actually affect the moon as a whole. No magic can stop the moon. No magic." She pointed directly at Neville. "Remember that. Now, how does that explain the moon outside being motionless in the sky? Well, illusionary spells give off the façade of one thing being another. Like spells that bend the mind to make people change what they see. Although, illusionary spells couldn't possibly be right because there have been side effects to the moon not moving." She jabbed her finger at Neville again. "Remember that too. So I checked it in some of my _Quibbler_ magazines and some library books looking for magic that can mess with time. Time Turners came up and you wouldn't believe the controversy surrounding them! The way people talk about them you'd think they were hinkypunks in Bangkok. But I went into the history of Time Turners and found that there was an old spell that was dug up to make them. It can only be cast by three powerful witches or wizards at the same time and requires a full moon on a night when nature's power is potent. The spell can take a singular object and remove it from time; put it in a place that is suspended and untouched in the time stream. It's an old Mayan incantation with a name that's spelled in four different Mayan characters." Luna snapped her fingers at Neville. "_That's _how the moon stopped without actually stopping. That's why everything in Britain has frozen; because _only_ Britain has frozen, and the moon that we see in Britain has frozen along with us. Did you remember that?"

Neville stared, open-mouthed, at Luna, his eyes round and wide in surprise. She stared back, unperturbed by his gawking. Ginny couldn't help my smile widely out of both bewilderment and nerves.

"How…Luna, how do you know all this?" she asked quietly. The wide-eyed girl frowned and looked around, confused, as if something in the air bothered her.

"Because," she said sharply. "My name is Luna."

A very lengthy silence followed.

"Oh," Neville finally squeaked, looking at Ginny and then back at Luna. "W-well, um…I mean, yeah. Of course."

Without warning Luna let out a great big laugh and then swung her leg up over her head, somersaulting backwards, (and flashing a bright green pair of biker shorts), to the other side of her bed. She righted herself and reached for a leather case sitting on her nightstand with an old, wax stamp on its front.

"I got this from the library. In was in the Restricted Section."

"You broke into the Restricted Section?" Ginny asked, impressed. But Luna shook her head.

"No. I got it weeks ago when we were suppose to be researching deadly plants for Herbology. It was about the moon, so I borrowed it." She untied the leather thong and flipped it open. Three sheets of worn parchment unfolded, sewn together at the top and each one looking more aged than the first. Luna flipped to the second page and pointed at something on it. "See, right here. It says that Midwinter Solstice is a time of great natural power for the night. The longest night of the year, when the moon rides through the sky on an awesome journey and when the world sits and replenishes itself after the harsh summer."

"Natural power! That's why the spell worked tonight, on Christmas night! Midwinter Solstice was tonight," Neville exclaimed, excited by his discovery. Luna smiled broadly at him and nodded.

"Good. You remembered." She jumped off her bed and walked over to them, running over a few magazine columns as she went. "I told you all," she suddenly snapped. "I told you that the moon was the most important thing. It's dangerous to mess with something so powerful in nature. Only those who have nothing to lose do such things."

"We better bring this information to Harry and Professor Dumbledore," Ginny said, pushing open the dormitory door. "Luna?" She waved her arm, indicating Luna to lead the way. The girl nodded, her mouth set and her stride that of a determined leader.

"Right then." She ran, top speed, through the door, with Ginny following slow behind and Neville, after groaning audibly, following suite.

----------------------

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, Ron's face went pale, and Harry, unable to sit any longer, got up from his seat and started pacing the floor. He ran a hand through his hair repeatedly, causing his unruly locks to stand out in an even worse fashion.

Hermione, after involuntarily shivering, lowered her hand from her mouth. "All of them, professor?" she asked quietly. "They just…he just let them…." At Dumbledore's somber nod Hermione closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God," she whispered behind her fingers. "All of those people."

"All of those purebloods," Ron corrected, his face getting pale as he grabbed his stomach. He looked as if he was going to be physically sick. "They all got a kiss from a—from a---from a Dementor." He swallowed hard. "That can't be at all pleasant," he sighed, half sarcastic, half foreboding. Behind him the pacing Harry shook his head.

"No, it's not," he replied. "It's painful and haunting. Just being close to more than two of them makes your blood freeze over, and to have them take a pull at you over and over again until they get the soul that they want--." He tore off his glasses and rubbed his scar viciously. It wasn't hurting him; it just annoyed him. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Do you believe that, Harry?" Dumbledore suddenly asked, his body motionless in its chair. "Would you really not wish such a fate on anyone? Not even those of your classmates whom you get along with the least?"

Harry stopped pacing and the three friends lifted their eyes to meet the Headmaster's.

"What do you mean by 'classmates'?" Harry asked shakily, but it was Madame Tsion who answered. She was standing next to the Headmaster, having refused his offers for a seat time and time again.

"Those of pure blood amongst wizards and witches tend to keep to their own circles and celebrate between themselves. A Christmas Ball is common, and usually a family of high esteem holds one each year. Pureblood families of the highest order all over Great Britain are invited, and since connections range beyond this island's borders, many pureblood families in the greater parts of Europe, Asia and Africa attend as well. It was at this year's Christmas Ball that the incident happened, and I believe the family that held it was a girl in your year here at Hogwarts." Madame Tsion suddenly looked down at her hands clasped in front of her, and when she spoke next it was in a choked manner. "Her name was Parkinson, I believe. Your classmate, Pansy Parkinson?"

Eyes went wide as Ron looked at Hermione, Hermione looked at Harry, and Harry stared at Madame Tsion in a mixture of calm surprise and utter revulsion. Ron could barely believe it.

"_She was there?_" he demanded, nearly slamming his hand on the table. "She was actually there?" He looked at his friends and then searched the faces of the Dumbledore and Madame Tsion in a plea to find any semblance to the horror he was feeling. "Is that normal?! Is it normal to have a _student_ in that sort of…peril?!"

Dumbledore pushed his spectacles up his nose and shook his head. "Truthfully, no, Mr. Weasley. But, then again, in the case of you three, I suspect placing a student in that kind of peril to be of common nature." He didn't say it to be funny and he didn't say it to be reprimanding. He just said it to say it, and Ron had to agree with his logic.

"Well, yeah. But that's only because we're Harry Potter's best friends! Peril is the kind of thing people like us do! Not other students, like Parkinson."

"On the contrary," Madame Tsion interrupted. "People who dwell within the circles that Pansy Parkinson's family keep are a common man to peril and danger. What they dapple with is the Dark Arts itself, and yet they do so willingly." She smoothed out the front of her skirt. "Classmates you are familiar with were amongst that sort of horror tonight. Kino Rhiannon and Irish Peters." Ron and Hermione's heads snapped to attention and they glanced sidelong at one another. "Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Blaise Zabini and Darius Nott." Harry stopped his pacing and stood between his friends. "Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy," Harry blurted out, not surprised in the least and yet still surprised. Dumbledore nodded.

"I asked you, Harry, if you really believed in not wishing that fate on anyone. I have known the deep quarrel between Draco Malfoy and yourselves for years, and I know that it runs far beyond the borders of this school. I have asked, on numerous occasions, that you settle this quarrel." He shifted his gaze from Harry over to Ron and Hermione and stared at them pointedly. Both knew what he was implying and both felt extremely guilty. "And now I am asking you to do the same thing again, but on a different level."

The Headmaster pushed himself out of his chair and moved to stand next to Fawkes' perch where, Harry hadn't realized, Fawkes wasn't waiting. Quietly, Madame Tsion sighed.

"Those students that I named, and more among them, were just a few of the souls taken by the Dementors tonight," she explained.

"_What?!_"

She nodded. "It is true. No one was spared tonight. Entire families have been erased; adults and children alike. Their souls were taken and their shells left for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to dispose of."

Hermione could barely contain herself. Tears were already falling from her face and she had grabbed Harry's hand in a death grip. "So…so…people w—we know…people we kn-knew…now they're…just…."

"Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry specified, looking directly into Madame Tsion's eyes. She nodded.

"They were amidst those who were intended to loose their souls."

"And Blaise Zabini?"

"Yes."

"And Parkinson and Malfoy?"

Dumbledore looked back and Madame Tsion and she looked back at Dumbledore. There was a pause. Then Dumbledore nodded and Madame Tsion spoke up.

"Madame Parkinson was the one who planned the ball with Madame Malfoy, and since their husbands are unavailable to the Dark Lord, they became his devoted servants in their place. It was at his request that Madame Parkinson threw the ball in the first place, and although both women knew of his intentions, and were granted amnesty from the Dementors for their husbands' devotion and their loyalty, Madame Parkinson disapproved greatly of the plan.

"As much as she is a servant to both He-Who-Must-Now-Be-Named and her Dark Arts, Madame Parkinson could not stand the idea of freely giving over her colleagues and their unprotected families to the Dementors. So she tried to give them a chance. She made certain for them to keep their wands during the ball…and then she called upon me.

"Madame Parkinson begged me to help. Our people are near untraceable, being nomads, and so were often overlooked by the Dark Lord. We cannot kill with our magic, so we are considered useless. Madame Parkinson implored my help, under the circumstances, and I agreed. I sent four of my own tribe to the ball, one of them being my own daughter, where they disguised themselves as minstrels. With our Gypsy Evil Eye we can see into a person's emotions and intentions and discover the truth behind their words. I told Madame Parkinson that we could not save everyone, but we could save those whose hearts lay between the lines of power and mercy. Those who attended the ball were purebloods and were, by nature, lovers of power. But there were people like Madame Parkinson who still had a strong sense of mercy in them, and so they were the ones whom we saved.

"I gave my daughter my powers and, with the help of her tribesmen, used our magic to latch onto those hearts that were on the borderline. Naturally, because the people did not know what was going on, they fought back and many did not want to be saved. In the end my people were able to bring back only eighty-three guests out of an estimated four hundred.

"And, because we did not know where else to go after the moon went still, we brought them here." Madame Tsion looked up at Dumbledore. "To the only man he ever feared in the only haven he has never conquered."

For a long time no one spoke after Madame Tsion had gone quiet. No one could find the right words to say. Hermione was crying into Harry's sleeve and Ron had gone completely white and was hunched over his knees, trying to keep from being sick. Harry just stood, as still and unmoving as a statue, staring at Fawkes' empty perch and wondering why he couldn't seem to feel his legs. Sadness shrouded the air after Madame Tsion's story, and a cold realization had finally sunk in.

If Voldemort's own people, his own followers, had faced a fate worse than death, then those who stood against were in for a much painful sort of Hell.

No one…

…_no one_…

…was safe.

------------------------------

_Draco_

I was beyond tears.

I was beyond grief.

I was in a place of fear that I couldn't remember ever being in before.

It was worse than almost losing Pansy to the Indian Lotus. It was worse than seeing my father in prison. It was worse than thinking I might never again be happy. I was just afraid. Afraid of everything around me and everything inside of me. I could have died from my fear.

But I was interrupted.

Great, booming footsteps crunched over the glass strewn floor and headed straight to where I was hunched over an unconscious Blaise. There were more than one set, but the first one, the one in the lead, was foreboding.

The footsteps stopped right in front of my face and the hem of a billowing, black robe filled my vision. My fear wanted to keep my head down, but an even greater fear made me lift my eyes up. I followed the robe to the sleeves and then the waist and then the neckline and then to the face of a man who was no longer a man but a god and a god who had fallen from his peak and had become a demon.

I was looking at Lord Voldemort.

"Look, Lucius," he said, his hissing voice uncomfortable in its cheerful tone. "It's your son."

In hindsight I should have bowed. That would have probably spared me the looks of intense disapproval by Bellatrix Lestrange and Machiavelli's parents. But I couldn't move and was rendered even more helpless by the proximity of this merciless demon. So I just stared at him. Speechless.

He looked down at me in such a profound way that said he had been doing it all his life: looking down on people. He didn't seem offended or angry that I had done nothing. He only seemed…amused?

"You know," he said, cocking his head to one side and narrowing his eyes. "I had thought that the Malfoy heir was favorable to the Parkinson wench. But, from what I saw of you throwing yourself over this _Zabini_ girl, I guess I should keep up with my teenage romances better." He looked down at Blaise in my arms and nudged her with his foot. She didn't wake up or respond to his touch. "Such red, red hair." He shivered. "Hideous. You could do better, Malfoy boy."

And then he was gone.

So easily.

So normally.

I didn't die. I wasn't tortured. I was still whole and still sane. He hadn't once pointed his wand at me.

He walked past me and headed towards the terrace garden outside. Bellatrix Lestrange followed without looking at me but Machivelli's parents dawdled behind. They were looking at Blaise, their faces too bland and hard to decipher what they were thinking. After a moment they tore their gaze from her and looked at me and I saw that they both possessed the venomous blue eyes that their son had.

And I suddenly thought…

…what it must be like to be Christian Machiavelli, and to wake up to those two pairs of eyes every day…

Mr. Machiavelli walked over to me and knelt in front of my face, disregarding the blank-faced, unmoving bodies that surrounded me. Remember, these people weren't dead…just soulless.

"I will take her from you," he said, speaking in a gruff voice heavy with a Ukrainian accent. "My lord did not intend for her to survive, but she is my niece." Without waiting for a reply he scooped Blaise out of my arms and stood up easily, lifting her with him. He was not a big man but a tall one, and she looked so tiny in his arms. His wife came to stand by him, holding onto his arm for support. Just from looking at her one could tell she was more than just a little sickly. She looked directly at me and spoke with a more tangible English than her husband, although still audibly foreign.

"Stand up," she said softly. I obeyed and pushed myself to my feet. I was surprised that I could stand at all. "Now follow him. Stand next to your father. It is expected of you." She grabbed my wrist feebly and pushed me before them. I staggered on my feet and was nearly sick all over my shoes. One of the elderly guests was lying on the floor at my feet, staring up at the ceiling with blank, blinking eyes and a fidgeting hand. I skirted around him and walked straight for my father, focusing only on his silver topped cane and nothing and no one else.

He didn't look at me when I came to stand next to him. He didn't seem to notice anything around him. I used his madness to gather myself beside him, pulling in deep breaths. The Dark Lord had led his sinister posse outside to the garden, where the magical barrier had broken moments before the world froze and the greenery was bent over in the winter wind. Bellatrix was leaning against the parapet and my father stood next to a cherry blossom tree. A tiny, pink blossom was falling from its branch and was suspended in the middle of the air, one of its petals breaking free. My father stood in front of it, oblivious to it hovering inches above his face.

The Dark Lord was nowhere in sight.

Footsteps behind me made me turn and I saw the Machiavelli's join us outside. Looking past them I could see my mother standing at the top of the stairs. She was bracing herself against the stair rail. Her hair was disheveled.

"My lord has such an eye for people," Bellatrix said. Her voice floated on the absent breeze and crossed our ears like thick honey. "To find a needle in a haystack." She turned around and sat on the stonewall, smiling. I could barely make out her eyes through the mask of black khol. "He's found another interesting son." Mr. Machiavelli stared at her, straight-faced, holding Blaise as she raised a finger and pointed directly at him. "His favorite under-aged wizard."

-----------------------

"You brought them here?" Harry finally asked. He was standing completely detached from the group, leaning over Dumbledore's fireplace and letting the crackling flames warm his face. From far behind him Madame Tsion answered.

"Yes. My people returned to us after they had gathered the guests, but they were frantic. My daughter was fearful of the Dark Lord; they had escaped so narrowly and he had been so close when they left. She thought he might be able to follow them. So we came here. They are in the infirmary where your Headmaster has assured me they are being taken care of. My people were given extreme resistance at the ball and many of the guests were severely injured."

"So what does that mean?"

Madame Tsion looked up and Ron and Hermione turned around to look at Harry. Dumbledore only glanced in his direction.

"I don't understand, Harry," he said.

Harry sighed. "Neither do I." He turned around to face them. "Voldemort has stopped the world, destroyed his pureblood followers and is hiding in a castle somewhere in Elmet. What does that mean to us? What are we supposed to do now?" He took a step forward. "Professor, my scar hurt earlier tonight. But it wasn't because Voldemort was killing and he wasn't feeling murderous. He wasn't feeling anything. He was just moving. I could feel him moving, traveling from one place to another. I need to do something, Professor. I need to stop this." He clenched his fists and looked at his two best friends. "I'm starting to get scared."

Ron and Hermione looked at each. Dumbledore finally turned away from Fawkes' empty perch. He leaned heavily over his desk and stared directly at Harry, his twinkling eyes no longer twinkling behind their half-moon spectacles.

"Harry Potter," he said. It sounded strange, hearing Dumbledore say his whole name. When Ron said it, it seemed normal, like Harry was just any other Potter and Ron was just calling a friend. When Hermione said it she always made him sound like a hero; like someone special. When anyone else said it, it reminded him of people calling him The-Boy-Who-Lived. But when Dumbledore said it he made it sound almost like a curse but more of a blessing. "I want you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Harry nodded without hesitation. Of all the more complicated things in his life, trusting Dumbledore was the one that made the most sense and was the easiest of all. "Of course," he answered. The Headmaster nodded.

"Then I want you to do me a favor. Madame Tsion will take you to the infirmary and to a certain guest who was gravely injured tonight. This person is someone I want you to help Madame Pomfrey take care of. And when this person wakes up, I want you to explain everything that happened tonight with the Dark Lord."

Harry's eyes had gone wide with surprise and Ron and Hermione was looking at the Headmaster as if he was mad.

"Professor, are you sure?" Hermione chanced. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, I am. I asked you to trust me, Harry. I need you to do as I say."

Without a word Madame Tsion moved from her spot next to Dumbledore and crossed the room. She brushed past Harry and went straight for the door, waiting silently with her hand on the handle. Her eyes were downcast and her demeanor was meager, but she obviously knew Dumbledore's intentions and stood with a strong solidity next to the door, as if she were meant to be there and only there.

Harry hesitated. "What about Ron and Hermione--,"

"I wish to speak with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger for a moment longer."

The three friends stiffened. Harry looked over at them and locked his eyes with Ron. Ron was staring right at him, as if trying to explain something through his eyes. But the message was lost and Harry could not decipher what he was trying to say. Hermione refused to look at him at all.

Behind them Dumbledore waved a gentle hand to dismiss Harry. "We will speak at length later on and I will return your friends back to you in due time. But for the moment we have somewhere that we must be."

-------------------

Harry stepped off the spiraling staircase behind Madame Tsion. She walked directly in front of him but he could see clear over her head.

As they entered the hallway the gypsies standing guard all looked over to Madame Tsion and performed their respectable version of their bow. Madame Tsion nodded her head to them but continued walking. As Harry followed her the gypsies fell into step behind them until they were a solid, two-line wall. Their eyes on his back made him self-conscious and couldn't help the shiver that traveled up his spine.

-----------------

The Dark Lord stared down at Christian Machiavelli.

He didn't seem angry.

He didn't seem surprised.

He looked as if he expected to find him…although not in the condition that he was found in.

Voldemort knelt down next to him and reached for his hand. He lifted Christian's pale arm in his own long-fingered hands and stared down at it. The palm lay face up and he narrowed his eyes at the tiny shards of garnet crystal embedded into the flesh. He plucked one of the shards out and dropped it onto the stone beneath them. It hit the ground with a melodic chime.

Voldemort titled his head to the side, thoughtful.

----------------

_Pansy_

I was not dead.

To be dead would be a sweet relief from all the bullshit I had to deal with in the real world. To be dead would have been so much easier; a simple scapegoat. To be dead would have been bliss. To be dead would have been grand.

But I wasn't dead. Being dead would have caused me less pain.

Because believe me, I was in a lot of pain. The kind of pain that makes you nauseas in the middle of the night. The kind of pain that makes you want to tear at your hair and scream because it won't go away. It was in my arms and my stomach, but it was centered in my chest; like a fire that kept growing, with the tip of the flame burning on my breastbone.

But I was asleep and sweetly unconscious and I wanted to keep it that way.

---------------------

They came to the doors that led to the infirmary when Madame Tsion stopped walking and turned around. Behind Harry the twin lines of gypsies abruptly halted, following their Chieftess and standing with feet apart and hands clasped in front of them. Harry looked back at them and then faced Madame Tsion once again, his heart quickening. They made him nervous.

"Harry Potter." He waited. "I have told you that classmates of yours were caught in the tragedies of tonight. Your Headmaster has asked if you meant what you said when you did not wish such a gruesome existence for anyone." The tiny woman titled her head to the side only the slightest bit. "Were you lying when you said that?"

Harry stared at her, hypnotized by her eyes. "No. I wasn't."

She nodded. "This news makes me happy. I was hoping that you weren't."

-----------------------

_Draco_

He called me to him.

The Dark Lord called me to him.

I was standing next to my father and I could see him crouching over Christian through the darkness and the trees. When I was sure he couldn't see me he lifted his head and looked straight at me. As if he knew exactly where to look.

He pointed right at me…and that was it.

I was nearly sick.

---------------------

Luna led the way through the halls, hurrying onward in a brisk run. Her cork necklace bounced off her collarbone as wisps of her blonde hair started to fly out of her ponytail. Behind her Ginny and Neville followed at a close pace.

"We have to tell Harry, Hermione and Ron about this," Ginny was saying. "Harry would want to know and he could probably tell Dumbledore." Luna abruptly stopped at a crossroad in the corridors and stared down the two adjacent hallways. Ginny had to dig her heels into the floor to keep from running into her.

"It's a scary thought, don't you think?" Neville asked, nearly mauling Luna. He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep from falling on her. "Knowing that everywhere else in the world they're living out their day while we're stuck at eleven fifty-nine."

"The moon doesn't just stop for a spell," Luna said. "Something more important has probably happened tonight."

Neville looked down at her. "What makes you think that?"

Luna turned her head to look up at him. She was looked surprised. "Did you just step down your first year when Harry, Ronald and Hermione told you to get out of their way that night they were going after the Sorcerer's Stone?"

Ginny snapped her head in Luna's direction and Neville blinked. "Er…uh, no," he answered. She nodded in agreement.

"Same thing."

-----------------------

Dumbledore returned to his seat behind his desk and folded his hands together atop its surface. Before him sat Hermione and Ron, both watching him in the exact same fashion that they had done so a few weeks before, when he had asked to speak with them after their Prefect meeting.

The subject they had discussed then was the same subject they had to discuss now.

"We have been through this scenario before, haven't we?" he said to them. Both nodded solemnly. "And do you remember what it was that we talked about?"

"The Slytherins," Hermione answered quietly but solidly. "And Harry." Dumbledore nodded.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron started, shifting in his seat and leaning forward, "you asked us, weeks ago, not to underestimate the Slytherins. You told us to keep our eyes open and not to overlook anything about them. But it turned out that they weren't the ones doing anything wrong; they were actually the ones in trouble--,"

"Did I ever say that the Slytherins would do something wrong?" Ron closed his mouth abruptly. "Mr. Weasley, I told you what I did because I wanted you, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter to consider the Slytherins in a different light. I told you not to underestimate them, and I meant for you not to underestimate their humanity. They are people, like you and me, and I wanted you to stop looking at them as your future enemies and begin to look at them as your present allies."

Hermione glanced sidelong at Ron and caught his gaze. Her shrank away from her knowing and condescending glare before turning back to the Headmaster.

"Professor," Hermione spoke up, deeming it within her good graces to turn the attention away from Ron. "We have tried. Well, _I_ have tried. I did not disobey you, but I did talk to Pansy."

"What did you say, my dear?" Dumbledore asked, sounding much like an approving grandfather. Hermione shrugged.

"I repeated everything that you told me to say: 'If couriers come, couriers know'…. And she listened to me, but I don't know what I said. I don't know what courier I'm talking about and I don't know what deal is sealing whose fate." Hermione sighed tiredly and leaned back in her chair. Across the oak desktop Dumbledore countered her movement by leaning forward and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. The smallest smile was on his lips.

"Miss Granger, I have been teaching at this school for many years and I have seen intelligent students come and go. Of these bright wizards and witches I can honestly say that you are the cleverest witch I have met."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Beside her Ron sighed in mock irritation.

"How many times does she need to hear that?" he grumbled under his breath. Dumbledore went on.

"In the years you have been here I have watched your friendship between Mr. Potter and, of course, Mr. Weasley, grow," he injected, nodding towards Ron. Hermione glanced at him and smiled. Ron just rolled his eyes, pretending not to hear. "And I have watched and heard of the many times you have helped them solve their problems, whether they be in school or in their lives. When you first cracked Professor Snape's potion obstacle in your first year I was greatly impressed, and then in your second year when you uncovered the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. You mind has not yet met a puzzle it could not solve. And I believe it still hasn't."

A lovely, resonating song sounded somewhere from above them, echoing off the acoustic arches. The three looked up in time to see Fawkes come spiraling downward, fiery red wings glistening during the descent. The phoenix swooped in front of Ron and Hermione before gliding over Dumbledore's head and settling on his golden perch. The headmaster rose from his chair and went to stand next to the creature, running a hand over his crowned head. "You may not understand now, but I promise that everything will be explained soon. You will figure this mystery out as well, and when you do I want you to follow your instincts…and help Harry as you always have." At his last statement Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder at her. Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Okay, professor," she said trustingly. "I will."

Dumbledore nodded. "That is all then. You may leave. I suppose you have some friends you might want to meet?"

"Oh, yeah." She turned to Ron abruptly. "We have to meet your sister and the others in the dormitory." She jumped up from her seat and hurried towards the door. "Thank you professor! Come on, Ron." She pushed open the heavy door and stepped out onto the stairwell. Ron, who couldn't exactly hide his disappointment at being pretty much ignored the entire time, rose slowly from his seat and ambled his way after her. When he reached the door Dumbledore called his name.

"Mr. Weasley?" he said, inquiringly. Ron stopped and turned around.

"Yes, sir?" he asked. Dumbledore skirted around his desk and made his way to Ron's side. Tall as the boy was, Dumbledore had to look up at him as he approached and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You are valuable," he said solidly. The phrase came from nowhere and was spoken so confidently that Ron looked taken aback.

"Pardon me?"

The headmaster sighed. "Just as I have watched over Mr. Potter and Miss Granger carefully these past years I have watched you too. You are valuable to them, Mr. Weasley, and I tell you this because I have seen doubt in your eyes."

Ron tried to grin and shrug. "You don't have to say that, professor. Don't worry about me, I know Hermione is the clever one. You don't have to give me a compliment just because you gave her one. She deserved it."

"As do you." Dumbledore lifted his hand off his shoulder and pointed a finger right into his chest. "You are Harry's best friend," he told him. "You are the most important person of all."

"Why? Because I'm guaranteed to mess up everything and do nothing?" he suggested, not intending to sound so bitter. But the wizard shook his head.

"No, not at all. You are important because wherever Harry goes, and whatever it is Hermione has to do, they know that you will be there to follow them anywhere. You are loyal, Ronald Weasley, and you remind Harry what it means to just be Harry and not a hero." The headmaster nodded once and then turned around to return to Fawkes. "Now, I think Miss Granger is in need of your presence."

Ron, silent and somber, turned around without a word and left Dumbledore's office. He took the revolving staircase downward and found Hermione waiting at the landing beside the gargoyle. She turned around at his descent and waved him to hurry.

"What took you so long? Come on, we have to go." She started to run away but then stopped as Ron took his time stepping out from the alcove. "Aren't you coming with me?" she asked, slightly miffed that he wasn't at her immediate side. Ron, who had been distracted, looked up at her.

"Uh, yeah," he answered, thinking about what Dumbledore had said. "Yeah, I'm coming with you."

--------------------------------

Madame Tsion knocked heavily on the infirmary doors and waited. After a moment the doors opened a crack and Professor McGonagall's head peeked out, her lips pursed in annoyance.

"Who's there? What do you want? We're busy right now!" But when she caught sight of the Chieftess nodding to her the Professor immediately stepped out from behind the door and curtsied to the woman. "Your Grace, I'm so sorry."

"Not at all, Minerva. I can understand." She tilted her head back slightly towards Harry. "I have just come as an escort for Mr. Harry Potter," she explained. The professor looked over Madame Tsion's head and nodded curtly to Harry.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she said kindly if not fondly. "The headmaster had told me he would send you this way." She turned around and started to pull the doors open wider. "But please, let me warn you, these people are gravely injured and in quite a lot of shock. Don't be alarmed and don't make any sudden movements or sounds that could scare them." McGonagall pushed open the doors and allowed Madame Tsion and Harry to enter in before her, nodding respectfully to the other gypsies who remained outside.

Harry wished he had remained outside with them.

There were a lot more beds than usual, and there still wasn't enough for all the people. Nearly every teacher at Hogwarts was in the infirmary, bustling around and helping people sitting in groups on the beds or else lying on cloaks splayed across the stone floor. There were moans coming from everywhere and a thin layer of red seemed to cover everything in Harry's vision. Madame Pomfrey was running about like a madwoman, shouting orders left and right and pointing her wand frantically from one person to the other as she hurried about, quickly bandaging legs or stemming blood flow.

"Only a few are critically wounded," Professor McGonagall told them as she led the way through the maze of people. "And we let them have the beds over there in the back. I believe it is Miss Parkinson that he is meant to visit?" she asked the Chieftess. Madame Tsion nodded, glancing at a tall, unconscious girl lying in a bed on her right. Harry hurried forward and walked close behind them, glancing in the same direction.

His face paled. If his eyes were working right, the tall girl was Millicent Bulstrode.

Harry leaned in towards the professor and the Chieftess. "Parkinson?" he asked, surprised. "Pansy Parkinson?"

"Yes," the two women answered in unison. Harry didn't know what to say. Granted he felt bad for everyone who had been involved in the incident, but he hadn't actually expected to be nursing anyone like Pansy.

Come to think of it, Harry and Ron never really had much quarrel with Pansy. Hermione did mostly because Parkinson tended to pick on her a lot, but the only truly annoying thing about her person was that she hung around with Malfoy. Other than fraternizing with his enemy, Harry had never had anything personal against her. During school he barely ever acknowledged her presence.

"Over here, Mr. Potter." The professor led them to the back of the infirmary, where the large, glass-stained windows reached high into the vaulted ceiling. Two beds were curtained off from the rest of the room and Harry was brought to the closest one. McGonagall reached out and drew back the curtain, ushering both Harry and Madame Tsion in before pulling it closed around them. She rounded to the other side of the bed so she could speak to Harry over Pansy's body. "The Headmaster actually instructed Madame Pomfrey and me to wait for you before we helped Miss Parkinson here." She titled her head to one side and watched him over her spectacles. "He said that you are to take care of Miss Parkinson and help her to recover from this." She seemed to be waiting for a response but Harry couldn't give her one.

He just couldn't stop staring at her. He had to admit that she looked beautiful, lying there in the bed. Her dark hair had grown long, almost as long as Ginny's, and it was draped around the pillow in a glistening array. Her face, far too pale to be normal, didn't hold the usual grimace that he had always seen on it. Her face was relaxed now, and he realized that her pug nose wasn't really a pug nose after all. She wore a stunning white dress that hung off her shoulders, the billowing sleeves folded carefully over her stomach. The skirt of the dress draped over the sides of the bed, the hem detailed in silver embroidery of vines and leaves. At her neck lay a diamond-shaped crystal that was slipping off her collarbone and, directly in the center of her chest, protruded a silver dagger, the blade completely embedded into her flesh.

He couldn't hide the disgust and fear on his face.

She looked like a horribly morbid Snow White.

-------------------------------

_Draco_

Somehow, someway, I was able to walk towards him, leaving the safety of the group and standing next to him by myself. He was kneeling on the floor next to Christian, but even though I towered over him I felt meek and inferior in his presence. I wanted to curl up and cower away. Instead I stood stock straight, my chin lifted and my face arranged in the best mask of blankness that I could muster.

The Dark Lord, after a moment of silence, looked directly up at me. I actually flinched as his snakelike gaze fell on me, but thankfully I was not reprimanded for it.

Instead he grabbed Christian's wrist and held his hand out to me, palm facing up. I could see that the small streaks of blood had started to dry on the skin.

The Dark Lord cocked his head to the side. "What is this?" he asked, showing me the garnet piercing the flesh in tiny specks.

I stared at it…and nearly passed out.

I had _no idea_ what it was, and because I didn't know…I knew I was in trouble.

------------------------------

_Pansy_

I knew that if I woke up I'd find myself in Hell.

-----------------------------

Professor McGonagall waited until Madame Pomfrey joined them behind Pansy's curtain to pull out her wand. Both women aimed their wands at the puncture wound in her chest, their stances set and their faces concentrated. Harry's hand clutched the dagger's hilt in a death grip, his face paler than the dress itself.

"This is a complicated injury," Madame Tsion had explained. "The dagger my tribesman used was inlaid with a sleeping spell, but Miss Parkinson's body resisted it so much that it turned into a physical injury. Both Poppy and Minerva must simultaneously perform a single spell to help heal it while the blade is withdrawn; one concentrating on healing the spirit and one concentrating on healing the body." Then she had told Harry that it was his job to pull the dagger from the girl's chest. He had blanched at the suggestion and demanded why.

"It's too deep," McGonagall had admitted truthfully. "And none of us are young, growing boys with strength to spare."

Which had left Harry in a very uncomfortable situation.

"You have to give it a good yank when you see the light, Harry," Madame Pomfrey was telling him. "Use all your strength. Don't worry about hurting her."

"So it won't?" he asked hopefully, feeling extremely awkward and, for some reason, cruel for looming over her unconscious body. He wanted to just run out the door and be sick all over the corridor floor. Forget showing heroic dignity; no matter how many times he got hurt or how worse the wounds were, Harry would never get used to the sight of seeing other people injured.

"I said don't worry," the nurse repeated, her brow furrowed in concentration, "because it definitely will."

At the same time both McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey cried out a spell that Harry was unfamiliar with, their wands emitting an audible sound of a bell ringing. A dull, grey light sparked feebly within the wound in Pansy's chest and fizzed slightly, like static electricity.

"Now!"

With a powerful effort Harry pulled up on the dagger, unsheathing a six-inch blade from Pansy Parkinson's chest in one fluid motion. As the blade slid free Pansy's eyes flew open and she arched her back in a deep, choking intake of breath; a breath that sounded ragged and torn. Harry was taken aback by the release of the blade and Pansy's awakening, his green eyes staring in horror as she started to convulse on the bed, her mouth opening and closing in silent screams. The wound in her chest was still there, glowing with the dull grey light as she writhed in obvious pain in front of him. Her hands flailed out in response, reaching for the closing thing she could latch onto. Her fingers found the sleeve of Harry's shirt and she clamped onto his wrist, trying to fight the pain by digging her nails into his skin. It hurt, but Harry didn't dare try to break away.

"No…" Pansy was gasping as the light was slowly closing up her wound. "No," she gasped, "stop it…."

"Stand back," Madame Pomfrey warned, but Harry was the one person who could not heed it. With an unforgiving sizzling sound the grey light healed the rest of the dagger wound, leaving nothing behind but a slight rip along the edge of Pansy's swooped collar. But, as Harry well knew, magical healing wasn't a painless operation, and Pansy seemed to be overcome with the worst of it.

She screamed out at the top of her lungs, nearly silencing the infirmary room behind the curtained walls. The pain was too intense this time and she writhed sideways towards Harry, her legs and body swinging off the bed in a flurry of white sheets and skirts. Pansy landed on her feet and let go of Harry's wrist, sucking in air at too fast a rate and staggering on her feet. Her eyes were wide and confused as she glanced frantically around herself, one hand clamped tight over her chest where the wound had been.

"Where am I?" she screamed, bumping into the bed and then pushing away from it in fear. She knocked her arm into the curtain pole and the fabric wall tumbled downward, revealing the five people to the rest of the infirmary. Pansy whirled around in timid shock, screaming when saw the entire infirmary staring at her. "What is going on?! What am I doing here! Who…I…."

Harry didn't know what to do. She was confused and helpless and looked horrified to find herself in the infirmary, and immediate change from the last place she had been. He watched and felt a great welling of pity towards her. He still held the dagger in his hand.

------------------------------

_Pansy_

Pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

It was like letting someone rip your arm off.

And, to add to it, I was confused.

I was stumbling everywhere, confused at waking up to a room that wasn't Pellinore's ballroom and to see people who weren't dressed as Camelot courtiers. Flashes of my last memory kept mixing themselves with reality and all I could think of were those damn minstrels and the green lights and people screaming and throwing a sword and screaming an Unforgivable Curse and then being stabbed in the chest.

"Lying, bastard minstrels," I cried, the adrenaline rush I received from the pain starting to ebb away. With every heartbeat my body pulsed with a sharp ache, resonating from my chest all the way to my legs.

I wanted to die.

Why couldn't I have just died?!

"Don't, please," I cried. I remembered watching my mother fall, lifeless, to the floor. Sadness overwhelmed me. "Stop it," I wailed, my voice dying down from a scream to a pained whine. I couldn't hold myself up any longer. I just wanted to fall. "I don't want to die," I admitted, my body already sinking down.

Before I landed face first into the stone I felt someone's strong arms catch me from the side and slow my descent downward. When I turned to see who it was I expected to see blond-haired, grey-eyed Draco standing there. Instead I looked up into the black-haired, green-eyed face of Harry Potter, his glasses slipping down his nose and his hair parted enough so that I could perfectly see his scar.

His arms were wrapped around my waist as he lessened the speed of my fall. He came with me, kneeling down at my side, the dagger still in his hand, the metal weight touching my hip.

For some reason, for some strange, odd reason, I found so much comfort at his presence that I leaned heavily against him, allowing him to carry all of my weight. And he did; he held me up.

I grabbed onto his sleeve and stared up at him, my vision blurring over in a strange way that I never remember them blurring before.

I was in so much pain.

"Don't let me die." Why did I say that to him? Why was I putting my life in Harry Potter's hands? We hated each other. We were on opposite sides of the world. We hated each other. "I don't want to die."

He was surprised, definitely. I mean, if he had come staggering into my arms telling me to let him live I would have dumped his arse in the mud and walked off.

Because we hated each other.

But then he met my eyes with his own and said, "okay. Okay. I won't let you die."

We stared at each other.

Maybe it was because I had just woken up, was in excruciating pain, and was a little off kilter; or maybe it was because he was kneeling beside me, holding my dead weight in his arms with part of my skirt tangled in his legs; or maybe it was because he was Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, and he was making me a promise of life even though we were not friends, even though he could not guarantee it and even though we hated each other.

Or maybe it was because it was a phrase that was so kind in light of so much agony.

For whatever reason it was I soon found myself clutching onto Harry's shirt with both my hands, my face buried into the fabric of his chest, and his arms wrapped protectively around my shoulders as I cried…

…and cried…

…for the first time in a long, long, long time.

-----------------------------

A/N: The reason I haven't updated this story in a long time is because a) I had lost inspiration for it ad I don't like forcing a story out; b) I'm in college now and have a lot of this to do; and c) I'm trying to finish my real novel manuscript, so most of my writing ability has been devoted to that. But I promise that I will not abandon this story. Even though updates come in long intervals this story means a lot to me and I am determined to finish it. So, yeah. This thing will get done…at a slow pace, mind you…but it will get done. And thanks to my readers who have stuck with me all this time. You are greatly appreciated.


	28. The Way Unfolds

Chapter Twenty-Eight — The Way Unfolds

Harry sat quietly in the infirmary, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the flagstones beneath his feet. Around him the resurrected curtain blocked out the rest of the injured wizards and witches and the bustle of the room had returned in full measure.

Harry sighed and dropped his face into his hands.

Pansy had cried for a long time. It was nearly half an hour before her tears and emotion took their toll on her taxed body and she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Madame Pomfrey had helped him lay her back onto the bed and draw the covers over her body, arranging her dress so that the skirts wouldn't get tangled. Professor McGonagall had conjured him an armchair and told Harry she would bring him something warm to drink and something to eat. With that she had beckoned Madame Tsion with her and the three women had left him alone with a very quiet Pansy Parkinson.

He glanced down at his shirt collar. Her tears were still there.

Never, in his life, had a crying girl been so…

Harry had had his fair share of crying girls: Ginny, when she was younger, Hermione, Cho Chang, that Hufflepuff girl who had asked him to the Yule Ball in his fourth year. They had

brought with them a strange mixture of emotions and had brought about a different reaction out of him. When it had been the Hufflepuff girl and Cho Chang he had felt little pity, to be honest. Their tears had seemed unnecessary. When Ginny cried in the Chamber it had made sense because she was scared. When Hermione cried it had always been out of either worry or because Ron had been an arse to her. And for both Ginny and Hermione Harry had wanted nothing else but to soothe them and make them smile again.

But with Pansy…

She had cried as if she'd never done so in her life. The whole time she couldn't breathe properly and she was gasping and sputtering, her body too weak to even mourn properly. Harry had let her cry into his shoulder but it was a forced kindness.

Her crying was the sort that made _him_ feel like he'd done something wrong; it made him feel like a horrible jerk.

He raised his head. Pansy, face red from her weeping, lay silently on the bed. Her breathing was too shallow for proper sleep, but it was there. She was still alive. Harry leaned back in the armchair and let out a long sigh.

He wished Ron and Hermione were there to help him.

------------------------------------

_Draco_

The first blow he dealt me surprised me. I had expected the wand to move and be rendered near unconscious by the pain that would sweep over me. But he didn't use magic. At first he just stared at me, and an uncomfortable pause surrounded us. Then, without me even seeing it, he had stood up and brought the back of his hand smashing across my face, causing white stars to explode in front of my eyes and erupting my jaw with pain. I staggered back from the impact, more from shock than strength. I felt blood well up at the corner of my mouth but I didn't wipe it away.

I didn't have time.

"What did you say?" he hissed at me, bringing his arm back around and catching me in the neck with his fist. My throat nearly collapsed in on itself and, this time, the force sent me crashing into the floor. I coughed and grabbed at my neck, trying to push the air past my shattered throat. I gasped but didn't move. He stood over me, his robes too still to have betrayed any sort of movement.

_What did I say?_ I couldn't remember anymore.

He turned back to Christian and flicked his wand at him. For a split second I was relieved. I was not to be at the end of his magic tonight.

Christian's limp body floated upward as if pulled on strings, held upright in a crude mockery of a puppet. He hung there in the air, his cloak hanging down past his feet, the edge opening just enough so that I caught the sparkle of a dagger hilt belted to his side. I looked up to see if the Dark Lord had noticed the weapon. He hadn't.

"He's nearly dead. His hasn't got a heartbeat." He rounded on me again, his cold gaze more painful than any spell could ever be. "How did he get like this?"

I didn't know. He knew I didn't know. I cowered there at his feet because I didn't know.

"Get up," he hissed. I did; faster than I thought possible. Before I had even steadied myself on my feet he flicked his wand again and Christian was propelled right into me, a dead weight. I threw up my hands to grab him, his limp body dragging me back down. I fought to stay upright, trying to catch him under his arms and hoist him upward. I chanced a pained glance up at the Dark Lord. He was smiling, and it made me feel small and insignificant.

And pathetic.

"Take care of him," was all he said to me, his tone low and nearly inaudible again. "Make him wake up."

A brush of his robes, my eyes squeezed shut and a swish of air.

I opened my eyes.

He was gone.

I looked around widely, wondering if he'd simply vanished. But no, he was already behind me, walking back to my unseeing father, my deranged aunt and the Machiavelli's, his pale head standing out, stark white, in the surrounding darkness.

I looked down at the unconscious Christian in my arms, his face hanging limply over my elbow. He was heavy and I was shaking, but I knew that if I put him back down I would have hell to pay.

I gritted my teeth, dropped my strength into my legs and lifted him up, his body slung over my shoulder. Sweat dotted my brow and my costume was getting too hot in the timeless air, but I turned around anyway, taking step after step as I approached the group once more.

Only it wasn't a group so much as it was only Mr. Machiavelli. I looked around, but his wife, my father, Bellatrix and the Dark Lord were nowhere in sight. Back in the ballroom the Dementors were gliding about, dragging the wide-eyed, soulless bodies of the guests behind the deerskin curtain. They didn't pick them up, only grabbed cloaks, collars and skirts and dragged them along. None of them cared.

Beyond them the grand staircase stood, it's last four or five steps stained with Mrs. Bulstrode's blood, her dead body lying sprawled across its marble face. She wasn't positioned beautifully and artistically, like a slain princess. Instead she had dropped into a crumbling heap, her skirts up around her knees and her head twisted uncomfortably, the gash at her neck gaping wide, like another mouth.

Above her, at the top most steps, the staircase was empty. My mother was gone too.

"Follow me," Mr. Machiavelli said thickly. "We must take them to a bed." He turned towards the glass doors, Blaise's head swinging in his arms. He hadn't shown any emotion or made any other sound when he had seen me holding his son. It actually didn't bother me until later. I hadn't noticed his negligence. It had seemed normal to me.

I followed him back into the ballroom and across the mosaic floor, stepping over the fallen and carefully avoiding the worst of the shattered spells. People stared up at me, their faces a sickly, grayish color. I looked down and saw a stranger watching me pass, his eyes robbed of their pupils. It was a ghastly face, one of horrors and nightmares.

I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. I just kept looking, soaking up the image, memorizing the picture.

Just as I had done when Mrs. Bulstrode had been killed. Just as I had done when the Dementors fed. Just as I had done when He had finally shown his face.

-----------------------------------

Hermione and Ron reached the portrait of the Fat Lady at the same time as Ginny, Neville and Luna. They met in front of the Gryffindor entrance, both parties gasping for breath.

Save for Luna.

"You guys are back from Dumbledore already?" Neville asked, his brow furrowed deeply as he tried to speak without breath. In front of him Hermione took a deep pull of air, brushing hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah. We just came from him. You found Luna," she smiled at the younger girl and Luna granted her with a ghostly smile of her own.

"Hello," she said. Her eyes flicked to Ron, who was doubled over, his ginger hair flopping over his face. Hermione looked down at him next to her and smacked his shoulder.

"What? Oh, right. Hey, Luna. Sorry about earlier," he said automatically, waving his hand at her without looking up. Luna bent forward and turned her head upside down, meeting Ron's gaze.

"That's okay," she said. Ron gave her a half-hearted 'heh' before coughing into his hand. Luna straightened up and glanced around. "Where's Harry?"

"He went with the gypsies."

Luna frowned. Ginny and Neville both shot up. "What?" they all asked. Ginny looked flabbergasted.

"What gypsies?" she demanded. Neville nodded behind her.

"There aren't even any students here descended from gypsies," he offered, surprising both Hermione and Luna with the information. Ginny seemed to not be listening.

Neither was Ron, for that matter. He grabbed Hermione's wrist, still panting hard from the running. "'Mione…they don't know about the gypsies yet," he gasped. She looked down at him condescendingly.

"Really?" she asked him sarcastically. He nodded, oblivious. Hermione sighed. "It's a long story, and we have horrible news, so let's just go into the common room so we can tell you—,"

"Wait!" Luna had thrown her hands up as if to stop Hermione from moving. She hadn't even taken a step. "I must tell the Headmaster about the moon!"

Ron, his breath finally found, squared his shoulders and joined the conversation. "The moon? Again?"

Ginny jumped to Luna's defense. "That's what she was doing when we found her, Ron. She was in her room, digging up information on why the moon has frozen, and why time has stopped. It's amazing, the stuff she's told us." She suddenly blinked, as if seeing Ron and Hermione for the first time. "You two are awfully pale. I thought it was from running but--,"

Hermione's hand automatically flew up to her face distractedly. "It's probably from…that's what I was going to tell you, but--." She shook her head. "If you have to tell Dumbledore something then I guess we can go back, especially if it's important."

Ron looked at her. "We're going back?"

"We're going back," she confirmed, nodding at the three in front of her. "Luna's obviously--,"

"But what about Harry?" Luna interrupted, mimicking Ginny. "You said he was with the gypsies. Where did he go?"

"To the infirmary, I think," Ron said. He looked at his sister and then at Neville. "But I'm not sure if we should take you there yet."

Hermione shook her head. "Ron, I'm sure if we explain it to them on the way they'll be fine when they see everyone--." She stopped talking at the suddenly dark look he shot her. He was staring at her through lowered eyes, his jaw tensed. She shrugged lightly, not understanding. He held her eyes for only a moment before swiftly flicking his gaze to Ginny and then back again, so that no one would notice. It was all it took to make her understand. He didn't want his sister to see so many of the night's injured. Behind everything he was still the big brother.

Ginny was looking between them, uncomfortable with the silence. "I hate to be painfully obvious, but this is awkward," she said, eyeing the way Ron and Hermione were staring curtly at one other. "What is going on?"

"Nothing," her brother finally said, dropping his gaze with Hermione. His friend quickly regained her composure, shrugging off the moment with practiced ease. She would respect Ron's wishes for the time being, in light of all the harrowing news that seemed to continually be pouring in, but sooner or later Ginny and the others would want to see exactly what was going on. And they would have a right to; it wasn't as if they hadn't seen their fair share of gore and horror.

"First things first then: we need to bring Luna to Dumbledore," Hermione announced, turning right around and heading the exact way she had come, the others hurrying briskly beside her.

Despite their tiredness, all five friends kept up a determined run, scurrying up staircases and hurrying down corridors, Ron and Hermione knowing the quickest path back to the Headmaster. It was a lengthy journey, however. Some of the staircases that could have led them to their destination sooner had been in the process of changing when time had stopped, so many were left hovering in midair, their steps rising to nothing.

"This is the longest short route to the Headmaster's I've ever taken," Ginny commented, gasping, as they rounded a corner. She had to throw up her hands to keep from tripping over her brother.

"Come on, Gin. You're supposed to be a Quidditch player," Ron replied, sounding no less drained than she. "We athletes relish in this sort of vigor," he said sarcastically. Ginny shot him an annoyed smile.

"Whatever. The only one relishing in this vigor is Luna."

Sure enough Luna seemed barely fazed, keeping up with all of them although looking as if she were merely strolling across the grounds. Neville was amazed.

"You've been like that this entire time," he said to her. "Aren't you tired?"

She looked over at him and frowned slightly, her eyes puzzled. "Yes, of course." And that was it.

The group made it to the end of the corridor they had been overtaking and were about to climb the final staircase at the end. They were rounding the bend, one after the other, when Ron, who had been at the front, suddenly hurried onto the bottom landing, saw there was no stairway leading up and only empty space, screamed and skidded to a halt causing a chain reaction of collisions behind him. Ginny rammed into his back, Hermione slammed into Ginny, Luna toppled over Hermione. And Neville, simply out of surprise, fell down to the ground on his own accord. Moans and groans filled the air and everyone was rubbing some sort of bruise or ache on their body.

"Bloody hell, I forgot this staircase wasn't connected," Ron grumbled, pulling himself straight and staring at the air in front of him. He peered out over the edge of the landing and felt his stomach lurch. Seven stories separated him from the bottom level, and the vast expanse seemed to be pulling him right over the edge,

"Don't do that, Ron," Ginny exclaimed, tugging her brother backward by the collar. "If you slip over and die Mum will have a fit with me."

"Gee, thanks."

"Whoa! Will you look at that!" Everyone turned to see Neville pulling himself upright along the railing, his eyes trained on something around the disconnected staircases. All eyes fell on the Bloody Baron of Slytherin hovering in the expanse above the staircases, but he wasn't exactly frozen yet hardly free to move as he pleased. He was stuck in one position and was blowing about in the air, slowly tumbling and turning, like a leaf caught in a wind. He rippled his way towards Neville and he blew at the ghostly image, sending the Baron to drift downward towards a painting of a Parisian alchemist. "That's a bit odd, wouldn't you think?"

"Not at all," Luna quickly chimed. "Ghosts are caught between two worlds, so of course they wouldn't be frozen, like we are, but then they would be, like everything else." She leaned over the rail and watched as the Baron's frozen transparency passed right through the painting and into the corridor beyond. Next to her Ginny shivered involuntarily.

"He looks like Nearly Headless Nick did in my first year, when the basilisk petrified him."

"Downright creepy," Ron muttered, stepping away from the sight. "But come on, let's get going then." Once again Ron was leading them back the way they had come, Hermione keeping pace beside him. After a lengthy reroute they saw the stone gargoyle rise up before them once more, waiting at the end of the hall. But before they had reached their targeted destination they were cut off by Professor McGonagall and, to Ron and Hermione's surprise, Madame Tsion.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger!"

"Professor! Your Grace!"

The five skidded to a less hazardous stop than before and faced the deputy headmistress and her companion. Behind the Gryffindor prefects Luna, Ginny and Neville eyed the tiny woman curiously, much in the same fashion as the trio had done when they first met her.

"Where are you five going?" McGonagall asked strictly, but more out of surprise than anger.

"We needed to see the Headmaster again, Professor," Hermione explained, turning to indicate their Ravenclaw companion. "Luna has something important to say to him."

"It's about the moon," she offered helpfully. Madame Tsion's interest suddenly peaked at this tidbit.

"The moon?" she repeated, pulling at her o's. Luna turned, smiled and nodded.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, but the Headmaster isn't in his office."

"What?!"

McGonagall clasped her hands together and sighed wearily. "As you have noticed we are caught in dire conditions, and so Professor Dumbledore has gone to investigate these conditions further."

"He left Hogwarts?" Ginny blurted out.

"Yes, but only temporary and for good reasons," McGonagall defended. "So I suggest that you all return to your respective dormitories and not go wandering about the castle at this time. It's very dangerous and--,"

"The moon has been forced into a limbo," Luna suddenly said, her voice desperate yet her tone holding its airy quality. "Something very dangerous has happened, because although the moon circles the planet it has never heeded to its commands before." She looked between the two women. "Even if it is Midwinter Solstice." Hermione and Ron were looking at Luna with wide-eyed expressions, Hermione more impressed and Ron more astonished. Madame Tsion was intrigued.

"You know much on this subject," she said, stepping forward. Luna nodded.

"Yes, I've tried to find out as much as I could."

"And you know of the Solstice." Luna nodded again. Madame Tsion contemplated her for a moment before bending at the waist once more and bowing low to her. "I am Madame Tsion, Chieftess of an eastern gypsy tribe."

Luna bowed in return. "Pleased to meet you, Your Grace." The gypsy woman turned to McGonagall.

"Professor, would it be terribly against protocol if I stole a bit of time with this young lady?" she asked kindly. She glanced at Luna. "If that was all right with you."

"Of course," Luna assured her kindly. McGonagall looked subtly surprised.

"Oh, well, of course, Your Grace. If you wish too."

"I am impressed with your knowledge, and I'd like to hear more," the Chieftess said, extending a hand out to Luna, who took it without hesitation. "I would like to hear what you would have told Dumbledore, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all, Your Grace."

"Professor," Hermione began, pulling McGonagall's eyes away from the Chieftess and Luna.

"Yes?"

"Do you know where Harry is, Professor?" Ron looked at their head of house expectantly, his weight already shifting through his feet, ready to take off to find their friend.

"In the hospital wing, Miss Granger, taking care of the task Professor Dumbledore set for him. But I must say," she quickly added, holding up a finger to Ron, anticipating his impatience. "I do not like either of you entering the hospital wing, and I'd like Miss Weasley and Mr. Longbottom going there even less."

"Are we not allowed?" Hermione asked, crestfallen. Behind her Ginny looked as if she'd been snubbed.

McGonagall sighed. "Sadly, that decision was not in my power. The Headmaster said that, if you two wished to meet with Mr. Potter, that you were welcome. But only you two. I completely forbid anyone else going."

Ginny took this news as downright insulting and couldn't hide her outrage in time. But before she could protest Hermione and Ron simultaneously turned to quiet her words.

"Just this time," Ron said strictly. "Please Ginny. We just want to talk to Harry."

"I know you do, but I don't want to end up sitting in the common room doing nothing--,"

"Would you like to accompany Luna here?" Madame Tsion offered quietly, injecting herself smoothly into the conversation. "I'm sure she would enjoy the company and I, myself, would be honored to speak with members of Dumbledore's Army." She winked at them in a maternal sort of way and Ginny's frustrations were instantly quelled in light of being recognized as a D.A. member. "Of course, that is if your head of house allows?'

McGonagall stared at Ginny then at Neville and brooded over the answer for a moment. Then, with a purse of the lips that said she was really only doing this to be nice, she nodded once.

"I promise, if we end up charging head first into a full scale battle, you'll be the first one we'll call," Ron assured her. Ginny glanced at him, serious.

"I'm going to remember that promise," she said smugly. Her brother nodded.

"Right. 'Mione?"

And, once more, they separated, Ron and Hermione followed Professor McGonagall to the hospital wing and Luna, Ginny and Neville trailing with the mysteriously intriguing Madame Tsion.

--------------------------------

She was _strong_.

Harry was used to dueling; his reflects with a wand had grown extremely acute to the point where he'd last a good ten minutes with any grown wizard. He knew spells for the offensive and the defensive, and his mind worked fast under pressure.

He was a good fighter…

…when it came to wands.

When it came to actual physical contact, Harry wasn't at all trained, and even less so when dealing with a girl. And when that girl was supposed to be under his charge and yet completely insane at the same time, his knowledge on handling the matter was even less helpful.

Now, he was losing.

At the moment they were locked in a struggling standstill, Harry grasping both her wrists in an attempt to calm her down. She had already slapped him in the face and screamed enough obscenities to silence the entire infirmary, and she was slowly winning the struggle to break free from his grasp.

"What is wrong with you?" he cried, gaining a step against her. He was half a head taller but, apparently, neither his height nor his gender was counting for much in their battle. "You were stabbed with a dagger! You need to rest!"

"Don't touch me, you scar-faced bastard! Let me go!"

"No! You have to stay here."

"Like hell I will."

And hell she was creating. She was finally able to pull out of his grip, but Harry had had the advantage and she stumbled back against the bed, her hand lashing out to steady herself and knocking over the glass containing her healing potion.

"Be careful!"

"Shut up!" She picked up the tipped glass and threw it directly at his face. He narrowly dodged the attack and the glass bounced off the curtain and shattered on the stone floor. Harry was incredulous.

"You're mad, you know that?" he snapped at her, hardly in the mood to deal with a sociopath of a classmate. "I don't know why I'm here and, believe me, I don't want to be. But Dumbledore wants me here to take care of you for some reason or another, and what Dumbledore wants is what I will do, regardless of how much I hate the task. So you can scream and throw things all you want, Parkinson, but I'm not leaving and neither are you."

"Spare me the hero's speech, Potter," she spat, saying his name as if it were the worst kind of insult. "It may work on your pathetic, little friends but it won't work on me. I don't care that your precious _Dumbledore_ sent you here; people need me and I intend to do my own duties, even if it means breaking your perfect, heroic record--."

"You're not going anywhere," he repeated, more firmly this time, and blocked her way, interpreting her threatening step correctly. Pansy glared fire at him, but he did not budge.

"Get out of my way," she growled. He frowned at her as if her threat were insignificant.

"You're weak and you're tired. Just get back into the bed and go to sleep."

"Get out of my way or I'll kill you," she emphasized, exaggerating the threat so that it sounded so ridiculous that it seemed legitimate. He held his ground.

"Will you just stop it? This is a pointless argument. You don't have the strength to fight me."

"Want to bet?" She kicked at the armchair he had been sitting in and it flew off the ground towards him, banging into his leg. Harry cried out and pushed the armchair away, his hip and knee bruised painfully.

"Stop that," he screamed, his green-eyes staring at her widely, wondering if she were real, regretting the fact that she was. "You are the most…." He trailed off, too angry for words. He gritted his teeth and pulled out his wand. In pure retaliation, Pansy laughed at him.

"What are you going to do, stun me?" she mocked.

"If I have to."

She laughed outright. "You couldn't do it." Her laugh got stronger, more insulting. "You're such a little bitch."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened, his anger on the verge of snapping. "Get back on the bed, Pansy."

She narrowed her eyes, her coy smile more menacing than suggestive. "Is that an invitation? I never thought the _famous Harry Potter_ to be so perverted."

He raised his arm, ready to not only stun her but seal her filthy mouth shut for the rest of her young life. "Get on the bed now."

"Go ahead, stun me, petrify me, curse me and jinx me to your hearts content." She opened her arms wide, the drooping sleeves of her white dress dragging against the edge of the bed. Her dark hair spilled around her exposed shoulders, tangled and wild from her thrashing. She looked almost like a haunting ghost, with her pale skin and black eyes; someone who had passed over looking beautiful to be fearfully ominous. "Let out all that bottled up anger and frustration; vent out on your rival's ex-girlfriend. Go on, I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Harry's arm was still, his vice-like grip unmoving. "It's sounds like your talking more about yourself than about me. I'm not the one who needs to vent out a little angst."

"Angst," Pansy repeated, saying it breathily, laughing lowly to herself. "You think this is angst." It wasn't a question, it was a dull, surprised statement.

"I think you're delusional and that you need to lie down, close your mouth and go to sleep." His shifted his weight through his feet, his leg aching dully where the chair had struck. This girl was far more work than she was worth.

"Just shut up and stay low," she muttered. "Do you say that to all the girls?"

"You're starting to try my patience," Harry replied, his voice a low baritone; a voice thick with restrained frustration.

"_Now _I'm trying your patience?" Pansy exclaimed, gleefully surprised. "Only now? Not when I threw the glass at you, or kicked the chair at you, or called you a little bitch?" His jaw clenched and she saw the twitch, knowing that his ego was bruised. "Famous Harry Potter and his ever present aura of patience. Goddamn, you _are_ the perfect hero, aren't you?" she scoffed. "No wonder it was always easy for Draco to get under your skin."

That was the breaking factor. Harry's wand hand shook only the slightest bit, but it was enough to push Pansy's bed backward a good foot or two, the sudden movement knocking her backward onto the tumbled sheets. She gasped out loud, caught off guard. She looked back at Harry, the smile gone.

"Losing control, are we?" she mumbled. He didn't even try to respond, instead focusing his attention on keeping his magic in check. He refused to lose his controlled countenance because of a few taunting words from a schoolyard bully.

"Back off, Parkinson," he practically growled. "Back. Off."

"Harry?"

The curtain was pushed aside and Hermione and Ron came through, stopping short when they saw Harry's wand pointed at a tousled Pansy Parkinson.

"That's your charge?" Ron blurted out, his transparent face staring, almost disgustedly, at Pansy. She glared right back at him, hating him from his disrespectful expression to his hideously red hair. "Parkinson?!"

"Oh look, if it isn't the Potter fan club," she snarled. "Could my life get anymore shitty?"

"What are you guys doing here?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving Pansy. He knew he sounded angry but, in truth, he couldn't have been happier to see them. Hermione crossed over to him and rested a hand on his wrist, the light touch enough to lower his wand hand.

"Calm down, Harry. We know you're not going to use that on her."

"Want to bet?" Ron grumbled, crossing over to Harry's other side. "I'd use it on her, and I haven't even been here to hear the majority of the row."

"You never help," Hermione shot at him as she pulled Harry's wand free from his fingers and tucked it into his pocket for him.

Ron clapped his best friend on the shoulder, shaking the tense hardness out of him. "You okay, mate? You look a little angry?" he said, half-sarcastic, noting Harry's furrowed brow and balled fists.

"Fine, Ron," he automatically said. "Perfectly fine."

On the bed Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically. "I just hate you," she said plainly. "I just hate you all." Her proclamation was heartfelt, but she obediently crawled back onto the bed without any more fuss, lying atop the covers and curling up on the farthest side, her back to the three friends.

"Oh, now you listen. When you're outnumbered," Harry grumbled.

"Shut up. I was never going to try and leave anyway, you idiot," Pansy snapped over her shoulder. "That was my version of venting. You're just so easy to rile. Pathetic coward."

"Just like Malfoy," Harry mumbled under his breath before turning on his heel and striding out to the other side of the curtain. With a quick glance at Parkinson's back both Ron and Hermione followed after him.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione ventured, coming to stand in front of him. He was leaning against the window beside Pansy's area, the dark night outside unmoving, it's stationary stars halted mid-twinkle. "It's been a while since I've seen you this angry."

"It's been a while since I've run into Malfoy," he grumbled back. "She's almost worse than him."

"The girls usually are," Ron commented off-handedly. Hermione glared at him. "Hey, it's a compliment."

"I take it you guys are here because you heard of the task Dumbledore gave me?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. When—what was her name?—Madame Tsion took Luna away, she told us where we could find you--,"

"Wait, what?" Harry instantly perked up. "Why was Luna taken away?"

"She was amazing, Harry," Hermione exclaimed. "Ginny and Neville found her and she'd uncovered the most amazing things about why time has stopped!"

"It was pretty impressive," Ron admitted. "Apparently she'd known these things for awhile, or something."

"She knows why it's happened, how it's happened and how to fix it," Hermione went on. At the surprised look on Harry's face she launched into the full explanation.

-----------------------------

_Pansy_

I listened quietly, making my breath as shallow as I possibly could so that I wouldn't miss a single word. I gripped the pillow beneath my head, my fingers digging into the feathery down.

So…

A genocide of 'my kind'; the pure bred. The Purebloods. And in order to make it come to pass he used the planet's own magic against it. Stop time in Britain; extract it from the known world and place in an alternate stand still for a grand Holocaust; the likes of which had been unknown: the death of wizards and witches.

I found my arms and my legs shaking. I thought it was from fear, but it wasn't.

Anger.

It gripped me.

I had only realized it in the last moments before the gypsies had taken me away, but now that the idea had time to settle and register in my mind I found an undiluted anger build in my chest. What had we become, merely fodder for his grand scheme? We, who had suffered so much under his rule, were so easily expendable.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes, frustration building. Then what was the point of the Indian Lotus? What was the point of bartering my soul for a life if life was so easily extinguished?

Draco…

I blocked out that part of my thoughts, deciding not to dwell on useless causes.

I knew that I didn't have to worry about Draco. Of all the things I was angry and worried about, I knew that Draco didn't fit into any of them.

Because no matter what anyone said or claimed, no one really knew the true power that Draco bore with the Malfoy name. No one knew how absolute and sure his future was. But I did. I knew. Lucius didn't have to be alive to protect him. Neither did Narcissa. He had the surname of Malfoy, and that was all the protection he needed to survive on the dark side of magic.

---------------------------------------

_Draco_

I followed Mr. Machiavelli up to the third story of the castle. He searched through various doors and finally found a simple room furnished with only a fireplace and a queen-sized four-poster bed.

"She will take the bed," the wizard said, tearing away the comforter and laying Blaise gently on the soft blue linens. "Here, lay my son in front of the fire on the floor. His back aches him sometimes, and hard surfaces are better for him." He laid the comforter over the cold stone slabs in front of the fireplace and I deposited Christian's burdening weight on the floor, trying to set him down as softly as I could. Meanwhile, Mr. Machiavelli drew out his wand and pointed it to the grate and conjured a roaring fire that, not seconds after it appeared and crackled once, went instantly still. Quickly, as if he'd expected such a result, he drew out a paper packet from his pocket and tore it open. It held a reddish brown powder inside and he poured the contents in front of the grate, fashioning a careful semi-circle. Immediately the fire began to roar once more and the heat from the flames slapped my face both soothingly and uncomfortably.

"I will send someone up with food and drink," the man went on, his words heavy with his accent. He rose form the floor and walked to the door, his eyes lingering fleetingly on Christian and then Blaise. "You will stay here with them."

I didn't argue; I couldn't argue. For all I knew they were orders given by the Dark Lord himself, and I had had my fill of displeasing him that would last for a good, long while.

Instead I just nodded and watched Mr. Machiavelli slip through the door, leaving me behind with two lifeless shells and a burning fire.

It wasn't until I heard the door click shut did I collapse to the floor purely out of exhaustion. I felt like I couldn't breathe, then I remembered that I was wearing a ridiculous costume for a ball that seemed eons ago. With a groan I pushed myself to a sitting position and undid the heavy cloak, tossing it aside. I took off every unnecessary accoutrement, including the belt that held the scabbard. My sword was safely sheathed within it and I took the needed pains to lay it delicately on the floor, the jewels embedded into the leather twinkling in the firelight. Soon I was comfortable in my own skin and a black shirt and trousers, something that was thankfully familiar.

It was as if the costume were a dreadful portal into another world; a world where the people I knew lost their souls, were tortured and killed.

In those moments, where I sat silently by the fire, virtually alone, I can honestly say I finally felt like crying. I was tired and, low and behold, almost bursting with emotional baggage. It would have been a relief to cry, and as an added bonus no one would see and no one would know. But even after I thought about it I never did. Crying in itself seemed like too much work, and I was not going to expend any more energy on something I would probably be ashamed of in the end.

So I just sat there, not really thinking. I fell into a stupor bordering on sleep. But I was aware enough to notice a small detail: the crackling of the fire was the first natural underscore in the unmoving night, and it was absolutely mesmerizing.

---------------------------

There is a state that people tend to fall into at the most serene and boring of times. It is a state between being awake and asleep. We stare off into space, lost not in thought but in whatever it is that we are staring at. We don't close our eyes, we don't slip into slumber, but seconds later we find our selves snapping back to attention and realizing that quite a while has passed without our knowing it.

We don't remember what happened or remember dreaming. We don't remember thinking about anything or doing anything else. We are not sure if we were asleep or awake.

That was the feeling Christian felt when he suddenly blinked his eyes in full awareness. He was no longer just looking but actually _seeing_: seeing the ceiling above him, seeing the flicker of firelight on the stones, seeing dark blue draperies out of the corner of his vision. He breathed in slowly and then let the air seep out through his nostrils, taking his time.

He knew better than to just start flailing around in blind panic.

He tried wiggling his fingers and found them to be too heavy to lift. Instead he concentrated on his head, gently forcing his muscles to let his neck swivel and twist. The movement started out slow, but soon his stiff tendons got used to the movement and began to loosen. He felt his hair tousle against a soft comforter beneath him but it did little to relieve him of the hardened stone beneath.

He paused, took a moment to breathe in deeply, and, with a low groan, turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut in effort.

"Ugh…." He felt his chest twist painfully at the movement. "Never…again…," he murmured to himself, his breath escaping him. "Never…ever…again…." Christian opened his eyes then, let his vision adjust to the brightness of the fire glowing next to his head, and was dully surprised to find the infamous Draco Malfoy sitting on the floor near him, stripped of his black cloak and his 'pristine' hair looking frightfully disheveled.

"Hi," he said glumly, the sarcasm dripping from the singular word enough to choke any other human being. Christian, despite his unorthodox state, despite his near death experience and despite his supine, damsel-in-distress pose, found that the only proper response one could give to Malfoy was one that was just as sarcastic, if not more cheeky.

"Good God," he half-whispered. "I think I've died and gone to Hell."

Draco smiled, tiredly and menacingly. "Oh, you have no fucking idea."

------------------------------

_Draco_

So Christian Machiavelli wasn't dead.

'Yay'.

That meant that the Dark Lord wasn't going to kill me.

Bigger and more enthusiastic 'yay'.

But that also meant Christian Machiavelli was now my only company for who knew how long we were supposed to stay in that room.

Lesser and more miserable 'shit'.

I wasn't crazy about the idea. I would have been more than willing to have even Blaise wake up rather than Machiavelli. She probably would have been completely hysterical and panicking and overdramatic, and I would have had to explain everything to her and exert too much energy to calm her down, but I would have preferred that over the solemn-faced, depressing shadow boy.

As it were, it was a bonus that he could barely move. And I felt no obligation to help him.

"I can't feel the rest of my body," he grumbled. I shrugged.

"Then don't move."

"No, no, don't bother helping me. I wouldn't want to put you out."

I shrugged. "Thanks."

The glare he shot me was remarkably potent, despite his recent awakening, so I had to silently give him credit for it. Not even Potter, on his best day, could look so cruel. Machiavelli had potential.

The hand with the garnet shards in it twitched and he winced at the movement, craning his head slowly to see what was paining him. "What's all over my hand?"

"Shards of a ring," I replied, leaning back on my hands and stretching my legs out towards the hearth. How had I become so calm all of a sudden? When had the fear and helplessness melted away? "Although the process as to how those shards appeared is beyond me."

He frowned, thought a moment, and then his brow relaxed. "Oh. I remember."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you now?"

"I remember crushing the ring in my fist. I was angry…or was I desperate?"

"Why did you crush the ring?"

"Or was I sad?" He took in a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and tried to sit up. He failed miserably and did so in the most painful manner I had ever seen. He ended up collapsing back onto the comforter, gasping for breath.

"Please, don't try that again," I said to him. "It makes me uncomfortable."

"Well, how terribly rude of me. I promise to think more of your well-being in the future." He turned his head and fixed his godforsaken eyes on me, the power of his gaze searing onto my skin. I glared back.

"What?"

He waited a moment. "Please. I've been lying on my back for who knows how long and I'm very stiff. I'm desperate. So desperate and in pain, in fact, that I'd lower myself enough to ask you for help." He took a breath. "So just prop me up against the bed. Really, if you do me this one favor I promise to put in a good word about you with the boss and we'll all live happily ever after."

I admit, I was blanking out during the beginning of his little spiel, but near the end he caught my attention and I had to actually think about keeping my face blank and schooled.

A word with the boss…

"Fine," I grumbled, and pushed myself to my feet, groaning and moaning like I was wont to do. Propping Machiavelli against the bed was harder than I had thought, however. He kept complaining about his body being in pain and his chest hurting, and he wouldn't stop whining about how I wasn't careful while I ignored him. Eventually he ended up leaning heavily against the foot of the bed, his legs sprawled out in front of him and his cloak splaying about his trousers. I frowned as I stared down at him. He looked paler than I ever could.

"Are you okay?" I asked, attempting to sound concerned yet failing dashingly. He only sighed, which was really starting to get on my nerves.

"No, but at least I'm sitting up. It's easier to breathe this way."

"It's also easier to breathe when you're not half dead lying out on the coast in the middle of winter." I nudged his leg with my booted toe, probably adding more force than what was terribly necessary. "Which again brings me to wonder how you got into that state by crushing a ring."

I was curious. More curious than I ever remembered being in my life. I suppose that was where the energy of my fear had gone to, fueling my need to understand anything and everything that had happened throughout the night. And, as I had begun to notice, I had one of the most ideal people in front of me who could explain most of it.

"I'm not really up to a lengthy conversation right now," Christian replied, his head lolling back onto the footboard. "Give me a few hours to recuperate and then we can have a lovely heart to heart and become lifelong friends."

"No." I kicked him in the leg again, coaxing a satisfying wince from his face. I never understood what was so wrong about being a bully. It was fun. "We're going to talk now. I don't have time to wait."

Machiavelli reached forward slowly and rubbed his leg where I'd kicked him. "If I'm not mistaken, you've got all the time in the world," he mumbled. I started to open my mouth in a quick and witty response but then I stopped short, looking down sharply at his jet black head.

"What did you say?"

He looked up at me, frowning in polite confusion. "Pardon?"

"What did you just say?" I repeated, my words coming out clipped. Machiavelli stared at me and shrugged.

"I don't know, what did I just say?"

I dropped down in front of him, squatting on the balls of my feet. "You just said I had all the time in the world," I said evenly. "Which means you know that the night has frozen over." When he didn't say anything and just stared on blankly I knew I was right. "But," I went on, "how could you know if you've been knocked out since the beginning of everything? I was lugging your dead weight back to the castle when time stopped."

I saw a definite, absolute flicker of surprise pass across his face before he quickly masked it and cocked his head to the side. "You carried me all the way back? How sweet."

I was all out of patience. I reached forward and grabbed Machiavelli by his lapels, yanking him forward forcibly so that he could understand how frustrated I was. I ignored his twitch of pain. I wouldn't find out until later just how much pain he was in, but at that moment I couldn't have cared less. "What's going on, Machiavelli?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, a respectable cover up for how agonizing the yanking had been. "I really didn't think it was going to be this difficult," he finally said, muttering more to himself than to me. "I thought this would be simple and detached, just how I liked it." He glanced up. "I only ever agreed to mess with you because that was just supposed to be fun."

I was making that face again. That face that everyone knew me for. The face that simply said 'I hate you'. It was a good face.

"You better start explaining things before I kick you in the mouth. And believe me, I will do that." I grinned, imagining my booted heel smashing against his teeth. "I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you."

"And I don't blame you," he replied good-naturedly. He cocked an eyebrow at me and I released him, letting his lifeless weight fall back against the bed. He lifted his gaze and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with possessed knowledge. I hated his eyes. People with too bright of eyes were just asking to be hated, like Potter. "I'd probably hate me too. I already do."

I was growing impatient. "You're self-esteem is astounding, but I really must insist that you make your presence useful and explain to me what the fuck is going on."

Christian, like all well-experienced pricks, noted my impatience and took a moment to 'contemplate' the situation. I could feel the blood begin to boil in my veins, my frustrations remounting. And I had found so much relaxation in front of the fire only moments prior.

"You know," he finally said, "it astounds me how many people seem to desire Draco Malfoy's recognition when you seem to lack anything that could remotely be acquainted with being charismatic, charming or appealing."

I reached into my repertoire and shot him the blandest glare I could muster. "People like me for my body."

"Oh yes. How could I have possibly overlooked that?" He blinked slowly and sighed dramatically. Honestly, just being in his presence made me feel lethargically annoyed, like making people feel uncomfortably murderous was a natural talent of his. "Now, what was it that the great Malfoy wanted to know?"

"Let's start with the same question I've already asked twice now: why did you crush that bloody garnet ring and how the hell did it leave you practically dead?"

He glanced down at the particular subject, wiggling his fingers minutely as he stared at the dried flecks of blood. "Well, I--." Christian's eyes suddenly went dark, so dark that they made me uncomfortable. I frowned deeply and he clicked his teeth. "I don't…I don't actually know," he said, and by the tone of his voice I could tell that he wasn't lying. "Which can't be at all good."

"Things like that tend to not be." I tugged awkwardly on the collar of my shirt, the heat of the fire finally seeping in. "Red said that the family ring that you crushed wasn't exactly a family ring," I explained, then suddenly realized that I had called Blaise by the nickname so exclusive to Millicent. It had surprised me, and it momentarily reminded me of the strange gypsy attack that had occurred not but a little over an hour ago, at a time that seemed painfully distant.

"Red said…what?" Christian narrowed his eyes at me. "Family ring?"

"Red rose, golden band? Horrifically reminiscent of Gryffindor colors?" I tried. He frowned at his knees, his eyes shaking, as if he were searching for the answer somewhere on the floor.

"I know what you're talking about, sort of" he said. "But I don't…I don't know why I'd have done something else tonight. Especially when so much was already supposed to happen--,"

"Which I'd like very much for you to explain, seeing as you're so knowledgeable." He looked up and met my eyes. I waited.

"So absorbed in your own personal life to figure out anything that's happening around you?" he quipped darkly, suddenly reverting to a much more sinister, much more serious Machiavelli; a Machiavelli that was much more the son of the Russian gentleman and the pale woman. But I didn't much feel like being bullied into a corner. I had had enough of inferiority for one night.

"We had tried--,"

"We?"

I felt the same, telltale click at the back of my head as I felt my insides already twist before I had even said the name. "Pansy…and myself." I expected this new, darker Christian to take the name of Parkinson and use it as an advantageous barb, so I was surprised when he simply skimmed over the entire thing. I guess everyone is endowed with their own reserve of mercy.

"You tried…?"

"And failed to come to the conclusion of any of this," I spat out. "Sorry, but a mass disposal of pureblood lines was very far from any conclusions I would have come to. A mass disposal of everyone else besides us would have been more likely."

He was shaking his head, unsatisfied with my deduction. "But that does not aid the bigger picture," he said tiredly. "You did not think beyond the point of no return. What good would that do? What would anyone benefit from something like that? What would _He_ benefit from something like that?"

I could suddenly feel it in the air. This was the beginning of the conversation; this was the beginning of the full explanation, the start of my understanding of everything. A part of me, the part of me that was used to getting its way at Hogwarts, wanted to beat the answer out of him. But another part knew that patience would give me more information, and I suppose the weary way Christian was tweaking his stiff neck touched some part of my conscience.

"Why _did_ Voldemort just unleash a horde of Dementors onto a group of people who are nothing but faithful to him?" I prodded.

Christian tried to lift his left arm once, failed, and then tried a second time, achieving success in lifting it a few inches from the floor. "Not purely faithful, Malfoy, or weren't you listening? They were faithful in their words, not their actions."

"But they were still on his side," I pointed out, leaning forward onto my knees. Christian sighed as his arm dropped back down.

"Yes."

"So why them?"

He looked up at me with a condescending look. "Pure blood," he replied simply, speaking to me as if I were acting stupid just to aggravate him. "I swear, he was supposed to explain all of this to everyone beforehand--,"

"Yes, I know he needed pure blood, you annoying prick. What I want to know is what he needs the pure blood for." I knew I wasn't committing to our agreement; I could already feel my impatience building. Christian, meanwhile, finally managed to raise his arm and hold it there, circulating his wrist joint and working out the kinks.

"For a miasma," he said, distracted. I tapped my finger on my knee.

"A what?"

He sighed, again. "See? Another reason why I don't understand your popularity: you're an idiot. You know nothing."

I over-passed his judgment and raised an eyebrow at him. "What the hell is a miasma?"

"A demonic vapor. An aura, if you please, that is more potent than a potion, is less traceable and can infect a multitude of people with just one concoction." He glanced at me through his tired lids. "Standard fifth year knowledge," he added with a heavy smartass tone. For a moment he reminded me of Granger, and I abhorred it.

"Sounds wonderful," I shot back, leaning back heavily on my hands and stretching out my numbing legs. "So the Dark Lord wants to create a miasma. Does it require pure blood?"

"No, it's not required." Christian raised his arm higher, testing his shoulder joint. "But it makes it more powerful. Near impossible to cure."

"So what the hell is the Dark Lord's miasma supposed to do?"

He shook his head impatiently then, rubbing his other shoulder with his now mobile arm. "You're not asking the right questions, Malfoy. If you want this conversation to tell you the right things you have to ask the right questions." He met my gaze and over-passed my surprised look. "Now I want you to think of what happened tonight. Don't waste your time trying to figure out the conclusion, decipher the formula first and then the answer will be waiting for you at the end. Concentrate. Think about the oddities that you don't understand; the ones that already happened."

I glared at him as an initial instinct but I tried listening to his instructions, reluctantly delving back into the past hour. I watched the events skim through my mind at hyper speed, trying to pick out the 'oddities' that I knew Christian would be able to answer. That left out anything to do with the gypsies, as they had had no part in the Dark Lord's plans, and anything to do with him and Blaise Zabini, seeing as he was more or less a little dim on that subject. So I went, instead, to the disgusting Dementor feeding frenzy, and I suddenly remembered throwing myself over Blaise's limp body. And, for some reason, it connected to my memory of the Dark Lord kneeling over Christian, asking me what had happened to him with Aunt Bellatrix's voice repeating "his favorite underage wizard".

"We were spared," I said out loud, plainly and dully. But he nodded approvingly, so I knew I was on the right track. "We weren't spared on a whim or on accident, like…" I shot a glance to the bed, remembering how the Dark Lord unceremoniously treated Blaise's survival and yet had expected—had known—mine. "Why?" I asked, hoping for the sake of my patience that this was the right question. "Why were we spared?"

"Because of our names," he said simply. I waited for more, for more than just a name, but he didn't feel a need to add anything just yet.

"Our names? What's so bloody significant about that?"

I knew the authority I had with the Malfoy name, I had used it to my abusive advantage many times in the past, but for something as gargantuan as this it seemed almost comical. Christian, however, greatly disagreed.

"Neither of us have very common surnames, if you haven't noticed, O wise one. Machiavelli is an exclusive title, and those who bear the name are all descendents of one man--,"

"Niccolo Machiavelli."

His eyes went wide, although I didn't know if he was mocking or not. Loathe as I was to admit it, he was a lot better at distorting his feelings than I was. "Dear God, I think I might die from shock. You actually know something?"

"I remember learning about him from my tutors," I shot back. "I rather like the bloke. He wrote _The Prince,_ right? The basics towards modern day politics, with all that back-stabbing and selfishness so nicely worded?"

His surprise turned bland. "Yes, to put it in lamens terms."

"So you're a descendant of that Machiavelli?"

"Yes."

I frowned. "Then why does your father have a Russian accent?"

"You've spoken with my father?" His demeanor had completely changed. He suddenly sat up straighter, fighting against his sore muscles, and looked towards the door, as if expecting his father to be standing there, waiting for his recognition. "He's already here?"

"He brought us to this room." I watched carefully as Christian absorbed my answer and then quickly receded into his own mind, harboring the information, hoarding it almost. I watched him for a few seconds, wondering where I had seen that strange look in his eyes before, wondering why the sudden countenance he had adopted was familiar. And then I realized that I had seen it in myself whenever my own father was mentioned. I supposed it was that deranged way we were obsessed with them, wanting to please them, fearing their disapproval, anticipating their presence. It was the one thing that I couldn't mock him for, so I just waited until he had emerged from his own thoughts and squared his eyes with mine once again.

"My father is Russian: a descendent of Rasputin, which is why we live in Russia, but also why he took my mother's Italian surname of Machiavelli instead. As is widely known, Rasputin is not exactly reputable, if not still stunning. But father's lineage was of a bastard birth, so he had no real wealth or power attached to his bloodline like my mother did."

I felt smug and pissed off, like when I was a kid and the other stupid brats at the park had better toys then me. "How wonderful. You, with all your famous blood ties." I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, the room no longer chilly but the perfect temperature. "You're not going to bore me with an entire history lesson, are you?"

"No," he replied, rather annoyed. "But allow me to give some semblance of understanding. She was a descendent, and he took her name. In Niccolo Machiavelli's time he made close friendships with some of the most powerful people in Italy, this not excluding _the _most powerful man not only in Italy but in the major European countries." He looked up at me through lidded eyes. "The Pope."

I raised an eyebrow. "Impressive, though I hate to admit it."

"The Pope at the time was Rodrigo Borgia. Through history the time of Pope Borgia was difficult, laden with scandal and manipulation and rumor."

"You can't blame people talking. The Pope had four proclaimed children from a number of mistresses."

Again, Christian looked gently surprised. "How--,"

"The scandalous parts of history were always my personal favorite," I interrupted, which was true enough. "Anyway, go on."

"The Borgias, with all their corruption, were well-known for a particular menace, one that, ironically, was the cause of their family's fall from power in the end. The Borgia Fever."

"Fever."

Christian started to work at a stitch in his side and suddenly looked down as his fingers passed over the hilt of his dagger. "It is a poison called canterella whose formula was known only to those of the Borgia bloodline: slow, deadly and undetectable," he explained, fingering the hilt. I glanced back at my own blade resting closer to the fire, the antique scabbard boasting its jewels.

"Slow?" I asked, dragging my eyes back to Christian. He nodded knowingly.

"One of the many symptoms is bleeding from every orifice of the body."

"Ew."

"Precisely. No outsider to the family has ever even seen the bottled poison…save for two."

"I think I might know one of them," I snorted. Christian smirked right back.

"Cesare, the Pope's eldest son, and Niccolo were close comrades with each other and Da Vinci as well, although if I had to guess, I'd say Da Vinci's friendship was somewhat forced. Anyway, there are no truly legitimate or proclaimed descendents of the Borgia line, so the closest handlers to the canterella are us, the Machiavellis."

"And that's what the Dark Lord wanted," I finished off, trying remember everything he had just said. "That's why you're spared."

"Yes."

But Aunt Bella's words still echoed in my head. "But why you? Your mother is a true blood Machiavelli, so she knows the formula as well."

"Yes, of course."

"So why the hell are you the favorite?" I snapped, and then checked myself right away. There had definitely been jealousy in the remark, and Christian had noticed it as well. We stared at each other for a long time: one trying to hide their thoughts, the other trying to pry, both refusing to look away. Had he known how to use Legilimency he would have known that I _was _jealous of his good-standing with the Dark Lord. He would have known that, although I feared the man more than death, I wanted his approval and his recognition more than anything.

"I am many things to the Dark Lord," he finally said and I blinked, pulled out of my own mind. "But I am not his favorite." He pulled in a long inhale and then let it out slowly, falling back into his easier, more relaxed demeanor. "But that was not the topic under discussion."

"No," I agreed, suddenly wanting to push as far away from this subject as possible. 'We were talking about…so by combining the Borgia Fever into a miasma he can poison a larger amount of people. And by creating the miasma with pure blood it'll make it stronger. So he has a powerful and rare weapon. Who is he unleashing it on, Dumbledore and his stupid Order?" I said, comfortable with familiar ground. The idea suddenly struck me as perfectly ideal and I could almost imagine the bottled miasma exploding amidst those who had gotten my father thrown into Azkaban in the first place. But Christian's sardonic and cruel laugh shattered that distant fantasy.

"Oh come on, Malfoy. I know you're dim but I'd like to believe that you have some cunning in you. What did I just say at the beginning of all this? Think of the big picture. This has nothing to do with just killing off His enemies, because the Dark Lord's ambition reaches farther than that. For a—being—who has such a deadly weapon in his arsenal and a burning desire to recreate the world…don't you think he would?"

"He wants to play God, I understand that much!" I growled in frustration and jumped to my feet, raking my hand angrily through my hair. I was getting restless, impatient. Our discussion had gone far beyond what I had wanted; we had been delving into personal matters instead of just scratching surfaces, and instead of getting answers I was playing with riddles! "He wants to do the whole routine, straight out of the Bible: create the world in seven days, make man in his own image, be the most powerful, the deity of all those in existence!"

"Exactly."

"But He can't! This world was already made! He'd have to wipe the slate clean if he wanted to start over again--." I suddenly stopped, my eyes having strayed to the only window in the room. Outside I had a clear view of the moon and with that sight I heard the entirety of the Dark Lord's speech, precise to every last word that I had made myself memorize.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Christian looked up and I was surprised to see nothing on his damn face: no fear, no horror. It didn't matter that he already knew what was going on, only a fool wouldn't be scared. "Why, do you think, did he need so much blood? Why, do you think, has this escalated to such a grand scale?"

"But all humanity? He's going to…to _kill_ everyone?!"

"Wipe the slate clean," he said, using my own portrayal of words.

I felt my throat go dry and whatever was left of my energy zap away into nothingness. My shoulders suddenly went stiff and there was a large bubble in my chest, making it very, very difficult to breathe. "He really…He wants to play God?" I half whispered. Christian grinned a ghostly grin, rubbing his neck gently.

"Who ever said that he was playing?"


	29. The Way of THE AUTHOR

UPDATE: So, I don't know if Author's Notes are allowed anymore, or still, or again, but here is mine with an update on the sto

**UPDATE:** So, I don't know if Author's Notes are allowed anymore, or still, or again, but here is mine with an update on the story as well.

First of all please stop yelling at me. I know the Bedknobs and Broomsticks thing was lame, I'm sorry I didn't know it was a book and I'm sorry it was my favorite movie when I was bloody five years old. I didn't know that would offend anyone, ( I don't know how that could offend anyone), but I'm sorry nonetheless.

Second, yes, I KNOW Galahad and Lancelot aren't the same person. I know that one was the father and the other the son. I know. But I was basing my story on the myth in Marion Zimmer Bradley's 'The Mists of Avalon', when Galahad was Lancelot's pagan name before he was christened into the church and then given the name of Lancelot. The point of me referencing that particular version is because there is a coupling of passion and duty in Christian that comes with the two different characters, Galahad and Lancelot, and I thought it was creative how Bradley connected the father and son through their name in such a religious sense.

Now, with that said…

This is precisely why I've slowly been drifting away from this story. I've gotten more complaints about this story in personal emails than anything else, every last one of them yelling at me about my facts and my choice in storyline. I'm not complaining about criticism, those comments I like reading. The ones with the exclamation points and angry faces, however, make me feel, (sorry to sound juvenile), but bad. They make me feel bad, and I really had a special part in my heart for this story.

But all the same…

I will be continuing this because, frankly, it's mine and I ultimately get to choose what happens and what references I use.

For those who actually like this story or who like to read it and give me some productive feedback: Things will start to fall into place and mysteries will be solved.

Pansy will NOT be bonding with the famous Trio, but she will have some discussions with Harry that will be crucial to her decisions in the future. But they won't become friends, because I don't think rivalries heal so simply just because someone cried on the other's shoulder.

Draco…well, in truth Draco is a coward, so he won't be staying in the castle much longer. Him and Christian are going to try and find a way to escape with Blaise, although to where they're going to run they haven't really a good clue. The relationship between Christian and Draco will develop, and Christian will be talking with Draco about a lot of things, and vice versa. Hardly mushy, though. They'll be yelling at each other most of the time.

As for Voldy…well…you know him.


End file.
